Love is…Remembering their coffee order,Or surprising themWith chocolateAfter a long dayWhen everyone’s tiredAnd things feel biggerThan they are. Love is…Gentle touchesWhile folding laundry,Holding handsWhile driving to the store,Or lingering gazesWhile cooking dinner-Knowing that these silent momentsAre the ones you’ll remember. Love is…Actively listening when they speak,Learning who they areAnd who they want to be,Using that ...

A twinkle, twinkle from up above reflects a dance of winter love. Her beauty mirrors the cold night air and calls out in search of someone near.  My eyes catch hers, and she’s dazed. Her eyes sparkle, and I’m amazed. Her quick smile, so entrancing. How is it with me she’s dancing?  Up and down, ...

A gift of a dozen red roses, One for each infidelity, To forget your broken promises And your repulsive behavior toward me. A present to hold you in my thoughts So at your side I’ll stay and cement our lovers’ farce, A thoughtless gesture on Valentine’s Day. Your gift of a dozen red roses. Draws ...

He loves me loudly in the open like no one ever has before. He loves me quietly behind closed doors. I do not have to cry and beg for his affection. He freely gives me his attention. He makes sure my heart is guarded beyond all measure, as if it were a valuable treasure. He ...

The hard blow fell across her back from behind. “Get fucked by a Beluvian tocar!” Luna swore at the offender. Her electric orange outposter splashed down her shirt and onto the data pad she was reading. She turned to locate the dead grinter who’d doused her in her favorite beverage, only to find a trembling waitress backing away from ...

An acrostic poem about a lover's bold declaration of love for their Valentine.

I thought I had the Ten of Cups And wouldn’t be alone, I read a family in my cards Together we’d build a world of love. But instead my fate Draws the six of swords: A woman adrift skewered by swords. Did I swap my Ten of Cups Or was it snatched away by Fate? ...

The old woman set aside a yellowed, dog-eared script atop a tower of books by her chair. She sat back and rested her head on a well-worn spot in the recliner, her short, wavy gray hair flattened. Her name, Grace Averill, and a date of June 1957 were scribbled on the script’s first page, A ...

I saw the heartbreak coming from a mile away. Starting with the breathless Wow Of that long-desired first kiss Our time was ticking down, finite; It was scarcely a matter of months, weeks No more than a handful of nights In the span of a whole lifetime Fate let me spend asleep in your arms. ...