Petals shy behind her gaze,
bashful dawns in blushing haze;
soft her laughter weaves through air,
gentle hands of dreams laid bare.
Miles fall silent at her door,
roads grow shorter evermore;
distance folds like paper skies,
bridged by eager, longing sighs.
Ancient halls and painted gold,
we have touched with fingers bold;
whispers of the past we hear,
woven close and drawing near.
Dinners hum with silvered grace,
snacks become a sacred place;
even crumbs between our lips,
taste of unforgotten trips.
Each small glance, a jeweled art,
stitched between our beating hearts;
her sweet voice, a violet stream,
bids the twilight bow and dream.
Evenings spin on subtle thread,
time forgets the path ahead;
only now, this breath, this flame,
only us without a name.
Crumbled coins and little buys,
hold the weight of endless skies;
for no greater riches gleam,
than her smile and its soft gleam.
The benches carve our secrets, too,
under ancient skies of blue;
each worn stone, a witness sworn,
to the day our hearts were born.
Though the miles may stretch and sway,
we are never swept away;
woven tight by unseen hands,
we are roots across the lands.
Thus the hours sweetly spin,
weaving music on our skin;
while her bashful grace still grows,
where my boundless spirit goes.