Poetry Blog Pleasure Of Love By Draped With Ink
To be a poet is a condition, not a profession!
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Seeing him for the first time through the glass of his car, my gut was sure something was going to happen.
Men like him, they talk through eyes.
There were times when I saw him staring me with those wonderful eyes of his, the way no one has ever seen me, filled with emotions he has never been able to express through words.
Men like him, who bring women closer to themselves, who make women love themselves, are rare.
He’d just sit peacefully smiling and listening to me talk and crib about my day assuring that he could do that all day.
He made me realise falling in love is empowering, falling in love is worth it all.
Ours were never like the classic dates they show in movies, but whatever and wherever we did, made me fell in love with him, and with myself.
They say men are puzzles but he was a complete treasure hunt, and finding him was finding my fortune.
And my love,
Men like him, who will offer whiskey at night, and coffee in the morning, are rare.
Men like him, are home.Â
Source: Draped With Ink by Apoorva
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