#objects of love

[quaintobsessions]

Protection

In the low light of a wet dawn I lie regretting one or two words among the squalls of phrases

I spilled all through you, remembering how I became too much

of the lover, left the poet to soak up the puddles past the edges

of the page, of intense exchanges.

*

In light rising separate from the sun, I think about control and in whose hands it rests;

I think about terms, yours, mine, and those of love; I think about trust

and the breaking of it. Suddenly I know what you tried to explain. How you kept

gently pulling the shutters in.

Suddenly what’s left is just the rain.

[jonaswpoetry]

Didn’t expect the violence

We brush upon the drift

and chant like chains:

—

with time over fingers

these scars teach another

to lift at no windows

while calling each, ‘lover’

—

Four lines of thought

that write oaths

awaiting nerve, though

confuscating

fought hopes

—

wandering unfolded

yet muted

by spilled threats

[cruxymox]

the radio, the wildflower, the screen

music prays, equal ways, songs

in sway & synthesizers peer

down into a valley blurred, blur

by the silent ashes & smoke of

shall-we-not-sacrifice our pasts

to our delerium sound; sway,

sway sway this valley away now

to a forest of pines & petals (

moors & nettles, hued golden )

more colors than we could ever

dance to, per chance, this soft

mess, scattered on my green

memory blowing in this wind

with the dust ( ash & smoke )

we grow unrestricted, outside

the walls ( dour, metal ), marked

stone with time & roots taken

hold on to a true earth, hold on

to these fragile things, wait &

wait, to imagine these eternal

shadows & brilliances beyond

somewhere, somewhen, equal

ways but hidden behind glass

far away ( pray, pray ) i or sway

[chucklingpecan]

Even an ancient flip-top cellphone is a sacred object when it delivers the voice of the Beloved

[mleighsquickspot]

Objects of Love

What things can make your heart sing

You see them and only joy floods your veins

The mind goes to every happy place you've ever been

Each memory only a time of laughter and fondness

Are they things you possessed yourself or were they gifted to you...

Does the idea of how you obtained such a thing always a source of giggles

Big, small, practical, the silliest things that only you and maybe a few others would understand

To find this with in a trinket is not uncommon

What is unique though is how we each hold a special place in our hearts for the inanimate

While thinking of the infinite ways just having it around can mean so much

Image: google.com/ the meaning of an object pics

Let me know what you think and pass the thought along.

[thepoetwhoburns]

I burn like fire

when you are around me

the love that you pour

is like fuel to me

I disperse like air

when you are not around

and look for you in the particles around me

I flow like water

following you

for you are my ocean

who is my ultimate destiny

I stand rigid like a rock

whenever something comes to harm you

to protect you

for you are my precious

You are my love and

i am an object of your love

I'll be anything that your love wants me to be

So i can be yours...

-Akshat Mahajan

[permanentlytransientus]

We were fans of clichés,

Him and I,

So he gave me his heart that summer

And I,

I gave him my favorite book to keep.

When the world around us

could not understand our love

It tried to pull us apart.

So we wrote each other letters.

The one I wrote to him is hidden in his wallet,

the paper is a little torn

But the thrill when I handed it to him still vivid.

The ones he wrote to me

are etched in my heart, my memory,

every verse, every word.

Now that we are older

we share coffee, notebooks, Netflix passwords,

embraces, kisses, touches,

We share a life made of a thousand such objects.

A life in which I am the subject of his love,

and he is of mine.