The art of love is immense and heavenly, imagine pouring water into the glass without the urge to drink it. Lovers just love, not in the hope of getting loved back.

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When you don't make a poet feel like they are an art, they end up making you as an art suffocating in the phrases of bitterness.

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My arms own a habit of having her between my skin. That's a goodnight kiss for me, to have her between my arms.
*In bed*
I turned myself to her side and curled my arms to have her tight. I had my eyes closed and little sleepy, we just had sex after a week. We made love, but that's what I found missing. My arms felt a void, she wasn't in between. I woke up hesitantly. It was 2am, the wall clock whispered. I looked all the rooms, I found her nowhere. My anxiety increased like anything. And ahh a slap to my hesitation, arm chair sounded. There she is, she is rolling the cigar between her fingertips and exhaling the smoke. What a flavour of her lips! I can bless my taste buds with the same taste for a lifetime.
I get closer to her face erasing the distance between our lips.
She pushes my shoulders with a gentle grab, her nails slowly piercing my skin.
"Ouch! It hurts." - I cried.
-"Exactly, That's what I said".
It's 2am, the clock shouted with the words of tick tock and just beside the clock, I saw her hung up on the wall as a photograph with a necklace of flowers.

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You feel like that poem
That I started while ago
But left unfinished in search of right phrases.

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Only her~

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Arrival of hiccup~

•Captioned•

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If i were a molecule,
My geometry would be
TERAhedral.

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Reading a poem to you
That I wrote for you
Feels so good,
Imagine reading a poem
To a poem itself.

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We are all stories in human form, searching for our keen readers.

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Some of us don't want magic
But the love that feels like magic.

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