Hands,
not tools, but worlds,
holding secrets of the earth and sky,
of a tenderness that asks for nothing
but to be.

The warmth of palms,
like sunlight falling through leaves,
a moment suspended,
aching in its simplicity.

Fingers trace the quiet edge,
Soft ridges of time worn smooth.
Each line a whisper,
etched in the memory of touch.

The tides rise,
fall,
rise again,
a hymn sung in waves,
the ocean’s voice breaking,
raw,
aching for the touch
of a lover he will never hold.
And she, the moon,
watches with solemn grace,
eternal, unchanging,
her face reflected in his tears.
Together they move,
separate yet one,
two souls circling.

The ocean breathes, restless,
a heavy sigh rising with the pull,
its hands of salt and foam
reach for her silver face.

The moon waits,
her pale skin soft against the black sky,
a quiet sentinel watching the waves crash.
She whispers light into the depths,
her glow spilling secrets
into waters.

I see you,
through a veil of unlit moments,
your eyes burning words
you dare not say aloud.
The space between us—
a chasm filled with longing,
a wound both fresh and ancient.

Fingers hesitate, hovering above destiny,
Where touch becomes a language
And silence speaks the loudest truths.

Your voice—soft thunder—
Calls me to an edge I’ve never known.

We teeter there,
Between the safety of the known
And the storm that waits
When passion is set free.

The moon rises, silent witness to the tide,
A pull, unseen, but felt in every thread of skin.

Whispers gather, curling like smoke
In the hollows where breath becomes fire.

Eyes lock, not for answers
But for the questions we dare not say.

A pulse shared between the unseen
And the undeniable.

Here,
Beneath the fragil map of veins,
I trace the quiet anthem of love.

The hum of ink sinking deep,
A hymn written for no one
But the soul beneath your skin.

Words linger,
Soft as the space between breaths,
Carving I love you
Into a moment
That the only silence remembers.

The pen hovers
A quiet river waiting to spill its truth
I press it gently
The first stroke like a whisper of rain
On earth that forgot how to bloom

Your name
Trails in soft loops across the skin of my longing
Each letter an echo
Each pause a prayer

Your skin becomes a canvas,
A map of every moment
I've been too afraid
To let my voice betray.

Ink trails fade into warmth,
The meaning stays,
Pressed into you
Like a memory
That will not fray.

Though the lines may disappear,
Their truth lingers in silence,
Where words aren't spoken
Only felt.

I take the pen
To whisper softly to your skin
Where the world's weight cannot reach.

Each word, a feather
Falling with purpose,
Delicate as a thread of rain
On the edge of dawn.

"I love you"
Spills like a tide,
Not a storm
But the pull of a quiet moon,
Steady, constant.