She is the night, and I am wandering,

a weary traveler lost in constellations.

Her skin, a river carved by silver light,

pulls me deeper where the stars dissolve.

My hands move slow, like tide upon the shore,

whispering secrets only water knows.

She is the fire hidden in the dusk,

the ember sighing in the hollow air.

I trace the echoes where the moon has kissed,

soft valleys where the dawn is yet to rise.

She bends like willow swayed by quiet winds,

a breath of earth, a hymn of gravity.

Each touch, a falling—weightless, without end,

the universe unraveling between us.

I write her name in silent, burning trails,

a language only fingertips can speak.