My beloved is a poet

My beloved is a poet, a weaver of words,

Whose soul spills onto paper, like songbirds on chords.

He paints with language, emotions laid bare,

A symphony of feelings, a world to share.

His eyes, deep pools reflecting the moonlit night,

Hold verses unspoken, a love taking flight.

Each touch ignites stanzas, a fire in my core,

Words dance on his lips, whispered evermore.

We walk hand in hand, through meadows of green,

His voice, a soft murmur, a love serenade seen.

He speaks of the sunrise, a burst of gold light,

And compares my laughter to stars in the night.

He sees beauty in raindrops clinging to leaves,

And finds poetry in the way my heart grieves.

He captures the essence of a fleeting sigh,

And transforms my fears to a lullaby.

My mundane moments, he elevates with grace,

A walk in the park, a smile on my face.

He writes of my dreams, whispers them back to me,

The poet within him, sets my spirit free.

He gathers my tears, like pearls in his hand,

And crafts them to verses, I barely withstand.

He speaks of my flaws, with a tenderness rare,

And turns them to strengths, a love beyond compare.

Our arguments simmer, like storms in the sky,

But his words bridge the distance, a tear in his eye.

He writes of forgiveness, a bridge built anew,

Our love a safe harbor, forever and true.

When doubts cloud my mind, his poems ignite,

A beacon of hope, dispelling the night.

He speaks of tomorrow, a future we'll write,

With ink of devotion, and passion's warm light.

He reads me his verses, his voice soft and low,

My heart overflows, with a love that will grow.

He captures our essence, a timeless decree,

My beloved, the poet, who writes only of me.

Our love story unfolds, in chapters untold,

With metaphors whispered, and secrets of old.

He writes of our laughter, the echoes that rise,

And paints with his words, the love in our eyes.

With every sunrise, a new poem's born,

Of coffee-stained mornings, and love's gentle morn.

He writes of our battles, the victories won,

And the strength that we find, as two become one.

He writes of our silence, a language we share,

A knowing unspoken, a love beyond compare.

He writes of our future, a tapestry grand,

Woven with dreams, held lovingly in hand.

My beloved, the poet, my muse and my guide,

With every word written, my love deepens inside.

For he holds my heart, in his verses of rhyme,

My forever companion, the poet, who's truly mine.