Through the whispers of the evening, when the moon weaves songs on strings of light

Through the whispers of the evening, when the moon weaves songs on strings of light, Who has fancied that love is weighed in pearls of spoken syllables aligned? As dazzling hearts follow their cosmic tango in an endless pulsar’s flight, And hidden gazes cross in the void, just intertwined spirits, unseen, entwined. Who dared to claim that grand amour wears the cloak of solemn deeds on parade? It reveals itself dreadfully tender, in small moments planting roots so deep, In the convulsions of purified laughter under the astral vault that secretly cloaks our union, In the lenient silence that echoes more slowly than litanies of orphaned words, forlorn and steep. No, our love does not mold its path in ephemeral gifts or in phrases that shine, But it lies hidden in the embrace of fingers declaring silent serenades, in entangled looks, In laughter bursting without summons, in the echoless symbiosis of quiet being, In that spectrum of sensations more vibrantly jolting in silence, not tossed like books. In the core of a world that bellows and blinks amid clamor and chaos, Where words roll through the air, delicate but devoid of meaning, You are my silent haven, in your canvas I smile, exuding serenity, In the way your eyes roam as if they’re painting our great odyssey in the sacred eternal leaning. So let me, please let me lay my eyelids above you, to touch you only with glances, To luxuriate in the chapters of you unexplored, to dissolve the shroud that veils your blood, Allow me to discover you, to embrace, to paint my love in elongated strides, For the story we inscribe never halts at words, but in seconds that flow gently, without a lengthy thud.