The air's too dry,
my lips chapped,
but no ordinary balm will do.

Why don't you wear it first,
let it melt into your warmth,
then let me steal it back,

until the taste of your lips
becomes my only addiction.

Unholy Love
Enchanting sin
Built on limerence and a lie
Fatally flawed from the first step
Self sacrifice and selfishness
Devotion and disrespect
Honeyed words
A captivating gaze
Intensity in every feeling felt
False promises and ones broken
Can’t put it to words
Nothing can describe
The grasp on mind body and soul

Don’t know the moment I broke free
Or if I ever did at all
Exchanged sin for sin
And you for him
Till I couldn’t anymore
It ate at my soul
Stripped me of my identity
Who I am, what I stand for
My beliefs and my morals
Changed me inherently
In all ways thinkable
Can’t fathom how I can go back
To the person I was before

Before you, romance and love
was a distant thought,
a concept I could neither
touch nor name,
so rare like the shooting star
that yearned to be caught
on the day you finally came.

I was besotted with your warmth
like a meteor trail of cosmic rain.
I gravitated towards your voice,
a sound beyond anything I can compare.
Your smile breathed life into my soul,
and your eyes sparkled like stardust
scattered into the midnight air.

I remember how we slow danced
and you made my heart lose control,
and in the moments I could not speak
your safe arms were my guide,
and your presence filled the void inside.
You painted auroras on the night sky,
showing me, what love should truly mean, and I am star-blessed.

©️Lizzie Bevis

Her
Cutting through, dancing through
with petals rumbling beneath our feet,
we dip and twist, entwined by a whispering thread—
holding tight enough to turn you blue, but never red, my love.

I don’t know where it will strike—
but I know I’ll die with wrinkles around my lips,
comfort in my eyes,
knowing I made the greatest trade—
my life, for you, my light.

To have you hold me—
guide me when sight fades, catch me as my body fails,
your gaze speaking volumes beyond words,
holding me soft and fragile—
so precious no one else could ever recreate this, my dear.

Him
On crumbling petals, I dance with you,
making sure I don’t crumble beneath your weight,
so fragile—
I don’t want to hold you so tight it causes pain,
nor let the world’s hurt reach you, my angel.

Sealed—
my lips cannot speak the depth of your meaning,
so I plead for you to see in my eyes
all the words they cannot say, my flame.
If the blade falls after claiming a head,

Let it be mine—
I will take the strike,
shield you from every wound, my oath.
With a smile,
love burning in my eyes for you,
there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, my heart.

Though my lips may be silent—
for you my legs stand firm to walk beside you,
my arms grow strong to hold you close,
my eyes sharpen to find you if you stray, my light.

My heart burns—
a calm fire fueled by love,
the most painful moments made beautiful by you, my salvation.
You are my heaven on earth,
the cure to every pain,

The beat within my chest—
and so I beat,
always, for you, my love.

Together—
we guide each other through,
hoping the blade never falls—
not because we fear the end,
but because we want to hold and lead each other,
not out of need,
but out of love.
“Moonlace”

Great luck, I must have
For your gallery came in view.
There laid a similar face
That at dawn, my mirror drew.

I looked at every nook and cranny,
Even zoomed in the pitted dust.
By hook or crook, as they say
With every measure I must.

I saw no pictures there,
No proof of your presence at all.
Only your name echoed
In antique cups and dusty hall.

Yet I knew it was yours,
My devotion wasn't merely a cue.
Here I gloss at just your name
In this Gallery made for You

There’s something about the way he doesn’t chase…

It’s not the swagger. Not the smirk.
Not the way his shirt clings when he works.
It’s how he doesn’t beg the light
he walks in shadow, and still feels right.

He doesn’t claim me. He just looks
and in that look, he rewrites books.
The kind with knights and velvet beds,
with whispered vows and tangled threads.

He moves like time forgot to rush.
His silence holds a speaking hush.
He doesn’t grab he lets me choose,
And yet I burn if I refuse.

His hands could bruise, but never try.
They trace my skin like lullaby.
He guards, not cages. Leads, not binds
And in his arms, the world unwinds.

He calls me wild. He keeps me free.
He doesn’t need to conquer me.
And still, I’d kneel, I’d bend, I’d melt,
For how his quiet power’s felt.

There’s chivalry in how he waits,
In how he touches no locked gates.
And when he moves, it’s not to own,
But to remind me, I’m not alone.

So here’s to him: the kind of man
Who doesn’t boast, but simply can.
Who wins no throne, but takes command
Just by the way he dares to stand.