This reads like that perfect moment where everything is soft and gentle. A quiet, still moment between two people, where nothing but the two of you exist in a bubble of tenderness. Your poems are so beautiful Mark 🙏🥰
The poem feels like a small, delicate moment suspended in time, where nothing dramatic happens and yet everything feels quietly alive. The light blue morning and the dust motes drifting through the window create a softness that makes the scene feel almost weightless. The touch of a hand and the closeness of lips bring an intimacy that doesn’t rush or demand anything. There’s a calm acceptance in the lines “just weather, just time,” as if the world itself is slowing down to let this connection breathe. What makes the poem so human is the restraint the sweetness of being close without needing to cross that final line. “Not yet a kiss” becomes its own kind of tenderness, a reminder that sometimes the waiting is just as meaningful as the moment itself.
This is quietly beautiful — like a soft sigh captured in words. 💛
I love how it lingers in the small, perfect moments: the light, the air, the gentle closeness. There’s such a tender patience here, like the world has slowed just enough for you two to exist in it.
It feels like love without rush, and it’s utterly peaceful.
You’ve written a morning that doesn’t try to become myth and because of that, it does. “No urgency, / just weather, / just time.” That line feels like a quiet vow. Not the dramatic kind, not the cinematic swell but the kind that roots itself in atmosphere.
“And nothing / trying to be more / than this.” There’s such maturity in that. Such trust. Desire without grasping. Nearness without conquest.
You’ve captured that rare tenderness where time is not something to outrun, only something to inhabit.
Not yet.
Beautiful. ♥️
Thank you 💛
Little moments like this are the real romance. Spontaneous, perfect.
This is the good stuff.
Thanks 😊
This reads like that perfect moment where everything is soft and gentle. A quiet, still moment between two people, where nothing but the two of you exist in a bubble of tenderness. Your poems are so beautiful Mark 🙏🥰
Thank you Vickey! Two people in a bubble of tenderness is such a beautiful image 💛 💛 💛
The poem feels like a small, delicate moment suspended in time, where nothing dramatic happens and yet everything feels quietly alive. The light blue morning and the dust motes drifting through the window create a softness that makes the scene feel almost weightless. The touch of a hand and the closeness of lips bring an intimacy that doesn’t rush or demand anything. There’s a calm acceptance in the lines “just weather, just time,” as if the world itself is slowing down to let this connection breathe. What makes the poem so human is the restraint the sweetness of being close without needing to cross that final line. “Not yet a kiss” becomes its own kind of tenderness, a reminder that sometimes the waiting is just as meaningful as the moment itself.
Thank you for slowing down in the world a little with me Adrião, and feeling a touch of weightlessness.
Such a wonderful reading. 💛
Such a beautifully captured moment! The imagery of the light blue morning and the gentle connection between you two is truly poetic
Thank you so much Aaliya! Really pleased it landed gently with you 💛
sweet
Thank you Travis!
This is quietly beautiful — like a soft sigh captured in words. 💛
I love how it lingers in the small, perfect moments: the light, the air, the gentle closeness. There’s such a tender patience here, like the world has slowed just enough for you two to exist in it.
It feels like love without rush, and it’s utterly peaceful.
Soft Ground, you've captured the essence beautifully. Love without rush and the world slowing down around us.
Thank you for sitting with it 💛
This is so exquisitely unforced.
You’ve written a morning that doesn’t try to become myth and because of that, it does. “No urgency, / just weather, / just time.” That line feels like a quiet vow. Not the dramatic kind, not the cinematic swell but the kind that roots itself in atmosphere.
“And nothing / trying to be more / than this.” There’s such maturity in that. Such trust. Desire without grasping. Nearness without conquest.
You’ve captured that rare tenderness where time is not something to outrun, only something to inhabit.
Those dust motes turning in the silver air made me go all soft, it felt so quiet~ Somehow I'm all shy here... XDD
Thanks Cedric 😊