Midnight Language To The Untranslated light.
I am unraveled, quietly,
by the shape of your
eyes.
They hold some tired
constellation.
some midnight language
I cannot translate
without shivering.
Your brows curve like
careful pencil strokes,
as though they were
drawn with intention.
And your hair rest
beautifully,
like it belongs only to you
And no one else could
wear it the same.
You sketch worlds with
soft hands.
Even your drawings
seem alive with a pulse.
I watch you create things
the way storms create
oceans.
Your voice arrives soft as
paper,
Yet leaves fractures in
me like glass.
And still your eyes
continue,
fighting to confess
what your lips conceal.
(This poem is about my current crush I made after an awkward phone call. We both have a thing for each other, sadly we’re only 2 days in. So I got a bit high and this is my 3rd time doing a poem, but my first time doing it on free will. And I hope it’s mediocre.