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There was a studied wanderer, A ponderer, a scholared-knight, Who read a tale, a dozen more, Of love and war and errant might,
He studied and examined lore, Of maths and yore of ancient halls, And carved with steel, with pen and song, Such lessons long adorned in walls.
Yet came to him, in silver mists, A duchess kissed by stars and wit, Her eyes beheld the turning world, Like scrolls unfurled, a garden lit,
Of beauty true, so bright in thought, A mind that ought, not be forgot, She laughed as though she wove the stars, Of golden bars, the beach she wrought.
She spoke 'till late of falling leaves, Of painted things, of sunsets red, And tested him in measured verse, With wit so terse, and long she said.
She turned his words like wayward streams, Entered his dreams, by pound of time, She found his mind a kindred thing, Flying with wing, unbound by time.
She asked him of the shifting spheres, Of time's arrears and burning stars, Of kings and queens who'd lost their crowns, Of battles drowned in iron scars.
And at every turn he matched her skill, And climbed her will, to win her test, She smiled and placed upon his palm A riddle calm, a greater quest,
She bid him name the nameless winds, The songs that spin the stars about, And when he faltered lost in awe, She cast no flaw, nor mocked in doubt,
She laughed instead, with precious love, Light as a dove, who will take flight, And left him caught in tangled thought, Her web was wrought, of lovely light.
He stood, disarmed, in pondering grace, For none gave chase to match him true, Yet there she left, a mind so fierce, With words that pierced, as arrows flew.
And so he went, with heart unbound, He sought the ground, where blossoms bloomed, He spun his words with silver thread, To win and wed, to love her true.
With books and blades, with deeds and dreams. With whispered schemes in brightest light, He wove his vow to win her heart, To be a part of light so bright,
Through seas he sailed, through halls he rode, What riddles bode, to turn his run, Until at last, his quest complete, A thing so neat, his course had won.
She saw his stance, his scholar's art, His guarded heart of patient steel, And laughed with him all of the night, And bid him fight, to love and feel.
She laughed and stole his clever tongue, His pride undone in golden grace, And stared as he stood smiling still, A little thrill, upon his face.
His words he spoke, of gentleness, Of elements, and recklessness, And matched her every carpentry, Of riddlery, with evidence.
A love of ink, of sword and quill, Of sharpened skill and echoed rhyme, Would bind them fast through days to come, Through trials spun by passing time.
She took his hand, a challenge new, For knowledge grew, in hearts alight, Thus rode the pair, wandering the land, The duchess and, her dearest knight.
She just needed time with him face to face He needed physical touch. She loved it when they were together some place He didn’t care so much.
Their love languages did not completely mesh But their love endured For he decided that he would keep their love fresh With time together secured.
And she did her part with kisses and hugs With holding hands as they walked She would hold him tight as they danced on the rugs And snuggle up close as they talked.
Everybody must know the love languages of The people they hold most dear In order to show, tell, and demonstrate love To those people they want to keep near.
So discover the love language that you must speak To your most beloved one Then you will discover that all the love that you seek Is spoken through that loved one.
A gentle touch here and there I beg of you Let me know I can love you.
A whispered word of support I cry for it Let me know that this is it.
A little smile painted on the wall tile, I wish you could I wish that you let me know we could
That twinkle in your eyes when you see me Let me see it there So I know that we can get to be there.
I beg of you, Let me know I can love you, That you can love me, That we can love together Always.
I see you in the room I want you to move Move to me into me Touch me Give to me Your love
The words I long to hear Saying you want me Touch me Give to me All of your love
Serve me this way With your hands With your heart Touch me Give to me The love that I long for
Time is running short Why should I wait? Who said you had to make the first move Who said you needed to say it first
Let me touch you Give to you All the love That I feel for you
In words that speak, in hearts that beat, A love that's so tender, so pure, so sweet. In whispers soft, or in a gaze, We find our hearts all set ablaze.
Through acts of kindness, gentle and true, I show my love, just for you. Not in grand gestures, but simple and small, It's the moments we cherish, one and all.
With touch so warm, you hand in mine, A silent promise, love will shine. Through each caress, through each embrace, I feel your love in every space.
And in the quiet, words unspoken, Where love is deep and never broken. Our hearts converse in a language so rare, A love that lingers, always there.
Happy valentines, the heart's own song, In every gesture, where we belong. Through all the ways that love takes flight, Together, we make everything right.
𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚢 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎'𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢! 🩷
Your love for me is honeyed words Spoken in my ear. My heart to this day skips a beat Each time your words I hear.
Your love for me is time we share When we can make the time. Each memory a cherished thought To dwell on is sublime.
Your love for me comes in trinkets Small tokens from your heart. I proudly put them to be seen By me when we’re apart.
Your love for me is care you show Each lovingly done deed. When I am tired you are there Providing what I need.
Your love for me, a gentle touch That soothes my troubled mind. To feel your fingers on my skin Helps me my way to find.
My love for you, I want to show You all these things and more. There’s no one else except for you That I truly adore.
~This poem is dedicated to my wife. Love you babe <3~
I'm physical touch. I love like a warm blanket. Wrapping around you to keep you warm and safe. The touch of your hands on my waist as you brush past me. The way you rest your knee against mine when we sit next to each other. It all feels like sunshine on my skin.
I'm gift-giving. I love like a joyful child. Giving you all my favorite things I think you'll like. An origami crane I made just for you. My favorite dog-eared book because I know you'll love it. The way your face lights up when you open the perfectly planned gift is what fuels my heart.
I'm quality time. I love silently. I'm the quiet place you go to when you're tired. I'll be your listening ear and the place to lay your head. All I need is to be near you and everything is okay with the world.
I'm words of affirmation. I love with words. Let me tell you how much you mean to me and you do the same. Let me sing your praises from the rooftops. The world needs to know how proud I am of you and everything you've accomplished. Tell me how much you love me.
I'm acts of service. I love like helping hands. Folding your laundry when you're tired. And you'll do the same. You'll wash the dishes for me. You'll pick up my favorite meal on your way home so that I don't have to make dinner.
I love like this. I love you like you're my whole world. I want to love you with my heart, my hands, my head, my time, and my touch. And I want you to love me in all these ways.
If you bring me coffee in the morning, black, one sugar, just how I hate it. I’d drink it anyway. Sometimes love is a foreign language, and you’d be mispronouncing me.
I touch your arm, you flinch, say, “Not here.” I translate: not anywhere But you just mean: not now.
If you buy me a sweater, a good brand, expensive, but maybe a size too small. I’d put it on anyway. A tight fit, like us.
If you write, I love you, but the font is all wrong. The letters hang all awkward, like a borrowed phrase from a language we neither of us speak.
I say, I love you, but if you don’t hear it not in a way that lands Maybe next time, I’ll write it in your dialect. Trailling in a fifty foot banner Behind an aeroplane.
Two languages colliding: your body’s rough syntax, my heart’s messy grammar. Both saying: stay. Stay for this.
Stay for the way light bends through blinds at dusk, for the heat caught between our skin and my sheets, for the dull ache that lingers longer than it should, the kind you stop noticing until it hurts again.
We write stories on each other in fingerprints and salt, rewrite them in the dark when neither of us is watching, both pretending we don’t know how this ends.
But it’s always there, in the soft black where everything stops— your hands, my voice, time swallowing its own breath, the seconds bending, folding in on themselves, each one stretching out too far and never far enough.
Your touch becomes my punctuation. It stills me. It undoes me. A comma, a pause, a breath caught on the edge of something I can’t bring myself to name.
Some nights, it feels like prayer, your fingertips moving slow, deliberate, writing psalms into my ribs I’ll never learn how to sing. I answer with silence and half-finished sonnets, my voice crashing at the edges where your touch hits deepest.
Time seems to fold wrong when we’re like this, minutes dripping heavy as honey, seeping through the cracks we swear don’t exist, sticking to our skin long after the room goes quiet.
We meet in translations, your touch unraveling my words, my breath catching on the poetry you carve into my spine without permission. In those moments, time forgets how to move forward.
Seconds hang like clothes on a line, damp with things left unsaid, shifting in the breeze of everything we’re too afraid to ask for. We fill the silence with weight: yours in your hands, mine in my chest. Both waiting for something to break, for the room to give.
You stay. You linger like a familiar ache, the kind I stopped fearing long ago, the kind that feels like home if I hold it too long.
Time slows here. Time bends. Time swells with the kind of heat that doesn’t fade. It breathes, it folds itself into us, until all that’s left is the tension of waiting.
We stay there too, in the pause between words, in the low hum of your breath pressed against mine— unwritten stories caught in the space between touch and voice, waiting for an ending that never quite arrives.
But it’ll always be here, won’t it? Always. In the soft black where everything stops, in the weight of time swallowing its own breath, your hands, my voice—the air too thick to carry what we mean.
Your touch has become my punctuation. A comma where I thought there’d be a period. A path I never meant to take. It stills me. It threatens to undo me.
So, throughout the pause, we will linger in limbo, waiting until time remembers how to let us go.