I know his favorite color—lime green,
A bright burst in his otherwise simple world,
A shade that's almost like him, bold but unseen,
Softening the edges, making life unfurl.
He loves skating, the feel of speed,
Like he's chasing something he can't quite name.
And cats—he could talk for hours about them,
Those tiny hunters, wild and tame.
He's a Scorpio,
But doesn't believe in stars or fate.
Astrology? Ghosts? It's all a joke,
But somehow, with him, I still can't wait.
He can't stand seafood,
Or anything sticky on his face—
Face masks make him squirm and sigh,
And I laugh, because he's so out of place.
He's got brown eyes, deep and warm,
And when they look at me, it's something real,
These little things I'm learning—
All the secrets he didn't mean to reveal.
YOU ARE READING
Where Words Fall Short
PoesíaA collection of poems that captures the depth of love where language falters. 'When Words Fall Short' is a tribute to the glances, quiet sighs, and unspoken bonds that speak louder than words-dedicated to the one who makes every moment timeless.
