“I no longer believed in the idea of soul mates, or love at first sight. But I was beginning to believe that a very few times in your life, if you were lucky, you might meet someone who was exactly right for you. Not because he was perfect, or because you were, but because your combined flaws were arranged in a way that allowed two separate beings to hinge together.” ― Lisa Kleypas

Picture courtesy: Cake in the shape of hands holding a rose by Alina Matveycheva, Pexels.

Sanaa here (aka adashofsunny) delighted to be hosting Poetics today! Being a Romantic Poet, the month of February holds a certain allure for me, and since it was Valentine’s Day last week, I thought it’s only fair to stir your muses accordingly.

Briefly It Enters, and Briefly Speaks by Jane Kenyon 

I am the blossom pressed in a book,
found again after two hundred years ….

I am the maker, the lover, and the keeper ….

When the young girl who starves
sits down to a table
she will sit beside me ….

I am food on the prisoner’s plate ….

I am water rushing to the wellhead,
filling the pitcher until it spills ….

I am the patient gardener
of the dry and weedy garden ….

I am the stone step,
the latch, and the working hinge ….

I am the heart contracted by joy …
the longest hair, white
before the rest ….

I am there in the basket of fruit
presented to the widow ….

I am the musk rose opening
unattended, the fern on the boggy summit ….

I am the one whose love
overcomes you, already with you
when you think to call my name ….

Somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond by E.E Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

It becomes less about grand gestures and more about presence, patience, and choice. Love starts to live in ordinary moments: in forgiveness, in shared routines, in quiet support during difficult seasons. It can also grow heavier, carrying the weight of vulnerability, loss, and responsibility, yet that weight often makes it more real.

Over the years I have come to realize that I no longer glorify love – the more I observe, the more I understand that love is not just roses and fancy dates, rather it is a feeling you fall into and more of something you build—an evolving bond shaped by trust, change, and the willingness to keep understanding one another again and again.

Picture courtesy: Person holding a cup of cappuccino by Daria Obymaha, Pexels.

For today’s Poetics, I want you to write a poem about love as something quietly sacred — not just roses and hearts, but the small, unseen ways someone stays. Maybe it’s the way they remember your silences, or how they feel like warmth in winter.

New to dVerse? Here’s how to join in: 

• Write a poem in response to the challenge. 
• Enter a link directly to your poem and your name by clicking Mr. Linky below 
• and remember to check the little box to accept the use/privacy policy. 
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• back later in order to read their poems. 
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