A Poem That Does Not Rhyme

Your eyes are my home
Some things don’t go as planned. But it’s okay
 At first it won’t be, healing takes time
 I wish I can keep you close and beg you to stay
 And I’ll write you poems that don’t really rhyme
I wish I can share with you my darkest fears
And find refuge in you from thoughts that harm
I will water carefully our love with tears
And make an eternal home out of your arm
They say time is relative, it all depends on you
Time is just a number, and numbers don’t end
You are my time, my thoughts, and my dreams too
Only with you my scars seem to truly mend 
I love you most with your cigarettes that you don’t smoke
With your reversed sleeves and your hand holding whiskey 
I loved you most when you looked at me but never spoke
Feeling the warmth of passion while reading Dostoïevski or Bukowski 
I want to tell you that I love books and stars
I love conversations people tend to avoid 
I love nature more than I love clubs or bars
And I think life itself is a call of the void
Your hands are my shelter

2 responses to “A Poem That Does Not Rhyme”

    1. Thank you, I’m glad you liked it


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