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Genevieveish May 31
We sit closely at the table,
Sharing conversations about nothings
Full of friends and strangers combined,
The band begins to play
Your hand grazes mine,
You stand up tall to ask
I step, stride in gentle procession,
Your hand possessed by mine

You turn to me,
Two equals pressing slightly
Eyed but not staring,
Hungry but not starving
I rest my palm on your broad shoulder,
Feeling your familiar fingers tips gently grasping my hip

Your body whispers to mine,
Pushing it in rhythm
I respond to your queuing,
Touching your face and lips when wanting

Guiding not insisting,
Vulnerable and respected
Two people working together,
Towards a partnership perfected
Eme Apr 16
To My Love,

We survived.

Through the storms, through the silence, through the ache of not being understood
we are still here. Not perfect, not untouched, but held. By something greater than both of us.

We searched for freedom, both in our own ways, and we didn’t know it then, but the search was the meaning. In that longing, we found God. And in God, we found that we were already whole.

The devil tried to break me. Tried to convince me that pain was my portion. But he didn’t see the strength of the Spirit living in me. Or the quiet, stubborn hope that still lives in you.

We pour into each other, even when we feel empty. And somehow God fills us back up.

We still hope for one another. And that hope? That’s love. That’s grace. That’s us.

I believe in who we’re becoming, not by force, not by fixing but by remembering who we already are in Him.
Meggi Apr 4
A flower behind the eye
Roots in the skin
Seeking water not spoiled by sweat and tears
The touch of my lover
The softening of thorns for her handling
The shade of branches for her slumbering
I grow gentle in her arms
Under her gaze
I grow further from the ground
Bloom and flourish and shriek for her
A flower behind the eye
Torn from it roots
Settled in a quiet place
Brushed softly behind her ear
Jeremy Betts Jan 22
I love you,
I love you not
I love you
I love y...
Wait a second...
If it's not bipartisan
Honestly
It does not matter how many peddles this flowers got

©2025
Sara Barrett Jan 11
Our roots of love have intertwined over the years,
anchored deep in the earth of trust,
growing stronger with each season.
Though storms may rage,
our love stands tall, unwavering in the face of time’s passage.
A celebration of the enduring strength and depth of love that only time can cultivate. This poem speaks to the power of commitment, trust, and growth over 15 years of marriage, where challenges are weathered together and love stands firm against the passage of time
Sara Barrett Jan 3
Side by side,
We walk through time’s forest.
Your steps lead with confidence,
Eyes ahead, charting the way.
I trace the map,
Trust guiding us into the unknown.

We listen—
Whispers in the leaves,
One deep in thought,
The other watching the horizon,
Feeling the air shift.

When confusion clouds our path,
We lean in,
Finding solace in each other’s gaze.

In frustration, we pause—
Our hearts the roots,
Trust the steady tree beneath us.

The forest thickens,
The trail blurs.
Hand in hand,
We press forward—
Each challenge a part of our story,
A dance of give and take.

Leading, following,
Each stumble strengthens us.
Doubt does not falter us;
Our bond lies in how we work together.

Through tangled branches, broken paths,
We find joy.
Laughter rings—
Each clearing a new adventure,
Each turn, a discovery.

As the sun dips low,
Shadows stretch.
The journey’s thrill lingers—
A promise that, no matter the path,
Hand in hand, hearts entwined,
We journey on,
Forever bound.
"The Forest of Us” is a contemplative journey through the landscapes of love and partnership, using the forest as a metaphor for the complexities of shared life. The poem weaves themes of trust, perseverance, and connection, celebrating the beauty found in navigating challenges together. With introspection and vivid imagery, it explores the delicate dance of leading and following, of finding strength in vulnerability, and of discovering joy amidst uncertainty. Ultimately, this piece is a tribute to the enduring power of unity. A reminder that even when the path is unclear, the shared journey is its own reward.
Elizabeth Kelly Dec 2024
The house smells wonderful,
Golden and buttery as this morning’s delicious sunrise on our front porch,
And your eyes twinkle as I venture a first bite.
“Pretty good, right?”
It’s a quesadilla and it’s perfect,
exactly to my preference.
Warmly brown and crisp on the outside,
Cold sour cream mingling with too much hot melty cheese and chicken and all the fixins.
A real knock out as far as quesadillas go.

I smile with my eyes and happily munch,
not especially hungry but I know you are.
You spoke this into existence,
A master of your own love language.
In many ways, I am fed.

.

Ingratitude does not become us;
I eat of your hand and rejoice the offering
As my brain whispers:
“My love, please leave me to myself.”

These days I am as two ships passing,
So rare an hour is it to shake my own hand,
Cull my own thoughts,
Breathe my silent breath unaccompanied.

Spinning sugar and spinning wheels are my god-given gifts.
I use the first to coat my tongue.
The second hangs in the air between us.

“Better than good,” I say,
Moving to rest,
To dream my silly dreams,
To paint my silly heart across the mercurial landscape of shared memory.

I am my best when I end my days like a spoiled Pomeranian:
Seated on a cushion
Worrying a bone.

.

The mysterious clicking and clacking of the HVAC tip taps merrily to the rush and whir of the electric heat.
The impression of a kiss still lingers on my cheek
In the quiet.

The house smells wonderful,
Golden and buttery as this morning’s delicious sunrise on our front porch.
It is a miracle to build a structure with your bare hands that bends without breaking,
and supports your weight without shaking.
Jack Groundhog Dec 2024
Two marble columns
hold up the high temple roof —
Lovers holding hands
Stacey Nov 2024
How do I make you see me?  

How do I step out
From behind the one-way mirror?
You hear me,
But you talk only to yourself through me.

How do I make you see me -
Not my clothes, or hair, or *******.
Not my body, sitting across from you,
Empty.

Drained by the endless hours of offering my elixir,
Hoping that when it is my turn to drink,
You will see my thirst...

Only you don’t.

You can’t.

Because no matter how much
You gulp down -
You are never satiated.

Your vessel is riddled with holes,
Leaking -
With each slurp you take from me.

How do I make you see me...
Crawling after you,
Gasping -
Yearning for us both to bathe in the elixir -
To soak it in,
Together.
Most of my poems written about relationships or love are based around loving someone with mental health issues, as I do. Now is a particularly tough period, and I find the words pouring onto the page quite effortlessly... suppressed words which are too harsh to say, but in poetic form seem completely appropriate.
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