In quiet hours, your name becomes a soft flame,
and I (with tender hush) trace your glow on my veins.
Each heartbeat breathes your echo, wild and tame,
a pulse that carves your love into my rain-warm plains.
Passion
Your touch is dawn breaking over night’s skin,
a fire that lights the shadows I have known.
My breaths align with yours, a sync within,
where every sigh becomes a whispered throne.
Tenderness
I cradle you in promises, gentle and true,
a shoreline drawn with patient, patient hands.
In every dawn, I gift you skies of rose and blue,
where trustflowers bloom in soft, unhurried bands.
Belonging
This heart, a steadfast vow, keeps you near,
a compass softly tuned to your tender grace.
If worlds collide, I’d still hold you here—
for you are the harbor where my pulses pace.