In the stillness of a Tuesday morn,
Coffee brews, but passion feels worn,
The sunlight spills through the window pane,
Yet warmth whispers of longing and pain.
Familiar faces greet the day anew,
But the spark we had feels like morning dew,
We drift through menus, our laughter subdued,
Each word a routine, a well-rehearsed mood.
Once, the world danced beneath our shared gaze,
Now we shuffle through all the unexciting haze,
Our hands brush lightly, a memory’s ghost,
Of fiery nights when we’d savor the most.
The clock ticks gently, in rhythm with sighs,
In conversation’s lull, affection slowly dies,
The sofa’s embrace is a comfort, it seems,
But love, like the pages, has frayed at the seams.
Yet in the dullness, a flicker may rise,
In soft moments shared, when hearts still recognize,
That even the ordinary has tales to impart,
In the quietest echoes, we still find our hearts.
YOU ARE READING
-whisper of heart-
PoetryWhat is Love ? ➽─────────❥ . . . "Love is the quiet warmth that wraps around your heart, the invisible thread that connects two souls across distance and time." It's in the soft moments...
