Love Poems
Daylight
I felt your eyes on me
and laughed.
It was a cloudy day—
we wandered the streets
of the city.
I wasn’t lost,
but each corner was new.
It felt like the first time.
But not—
I’d seen you in darker shades of light,
known the weight of your hand in mine,
the way your breath slows
when you're thinking.
I knew you—
but something about that moment
was new,
as if the air had shifted,
as if I’d just begun
to fall.
But this was different.
Side by side,
at a bar with no windows,
open to the warm gray air,
you moved your chair close to mine.
We watched people drift past
on the street outside,
talked politics,
talked like we’d always talked.
The sun, hidden somewhere behind the clouds,
slipped toward evening—
and I slipped with it,
fell again,
softly, surely.
Don’t let this be a masquerade.
Don’t let it fade.
Let it be
daylight again.
The First Time
You stepped from the shadows
outside my building.
I wasn’t sure.
You sat on my bed.
We watched Planes, Trains, and Automobiles.
Expectation—or the absence of it—
hung between us.
I wasn’t thinking of you.
Then gently,
you touched my face
and patted the space beside you.
“Come here,” you said.
And I fell into you.
I didn’t know if I’d see you again.
But in that moment, I wanted to.
I’ve never been
a one-night stand.
I can’t untangle sex from feeling—
not in my head.
My heart, my mind—
they hesitated.
But my body knew.
It softened next to you
in a way it never has.
There’s a moment—
sometimes breathless,
sometimes slick with sweat—
when I almost say your name
but don’t.
Can you feel how fragile it is?
As if I might shatter
into a thousand pieces.
I hold myself together—
the tension,
its unraveling in the air
above my bed—
it’s a gift.
My gift.
Please understand:
it’s rare.
There is Only You
There is only you.
You found his name in my phone—
hard to explain
why it was there.
He was never in my heart,
my arms, or my bed.
He was a name, a moment,
a brief forgetting
of the storm you left behind.
The nights were long and hollow,
your silence louder than sirens.
I didn’t want him,
I wanted not to feel
like I was drowning
in your absence.
He was temporary relief,
a shadow standing in for heat—
a borrowed face
when mine had gone cold
from waiting.
A friend when I had few,
who understood the loneliness,
who knew how quiet
a phone can be
when the only name you want
won’t call.
He never reached me.
I never reached back.
I left him on read,
blocked his number,
erased his contact.
An unfriendly thing,
but I had to be cruel
to remember what was true.
There is only you.
Only your voice in my head,
your name on my lips,
you in my bed,
and in every silence
I used to fear.
He spoke in still water tones—
no waves, no warmth.
You, a storm I'd gladly drown in,
always the fire, the flood,
the reason I stayed.
I don’t wonder what he thinks—
I left no thread to pull.
It was never a promise,
only a moment
I shouldn't have let breathe.
I trace your name in condensation
on mirrors, on windows,
on thought.
Even when I run,
it’s always back
to where your breath
once warmed me.
There is only you—
in the ache behind my smile,
the echo in my quiet,
the softness in my anger,
the ending to every
almost.
There is only you.
Still.
Again.
Without end.
The Fire
Laid bare here,
Where I wait for you.
It’s fear and flutter
Deep inside,
Where you bury yourself
In me,
Afraid to be so open,
So tender—
Yet still, I am yours
For the taking.
If I look into your eyes,
I might burst into flames.
This passion—
A slow burn
Smoldering deep in my bones.
Your hands cradle my heart,
And all that I am.
Your kiss,
A match striking the dark,
Setting my body alight.
Even drenched in sweat,
The flames will not cease.
It’s sacred,
It’s yours—
Let it burn
Until we’re both
Reduced to ash.
In this quiet blaze,
I am undone,
Each breath a prayer
For your touch,
For the heat that only
You can summon.