Stolen glances, love used to bloom between stolen glances, across the table, across the ballroom, an intimate note, a carriage ride, a walk in the gardens, a walk by the sea, a rosy flush, a blood red rose, passing through town, shopping for gloves, conversation by fireside, silence by nightfall, secret kisses by starlight; and to think—arrogant as we are—somehow we have outgrown this, when love will always make itself known through the eyes, will always be stolen until it is ours; it has never been and never will be any other way.
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Poetrysuppose Truth was a woman... * * * A collection of poems & thoughts about life and death and everything in between. * * * Disclaimer: Everything you read here was collected directly from my notes and journals, so please excuse any excess passion or...
