In the liquid sanctuary of silent noons, where steam rises to the sky like an unfulfilled dream
In the liquid sanctuary of silent noons, where steam rises to the sky like an unfulfilled dream,
we meet in the dance of waters, two spirits swaying under the warm curtain,
her hands, springs of tenderness, flow over me like an ancient promise,
each touch is a verse etched on my skin, a poem written in whispers,
she commands the water to be gentle, and I, listening, feel her song like an incantation,
we let ourselves be carried by the waves of time, in the silent dance of stirred memories,
and when my hands meet the temple of tranquility that is her body,
it's as if I enter a sanctuary where love is sculpted in flesh,
every corner of her is a prayer spoken in silence, a relic of eternity,
and each touch is an enchantment, an invocation of peace.
We lose ourselves in our ritual, masters of the frozen time,
in a world that forgets to slow its steps,
but here, in our sanctuary of water and soap, we rediscover our souls,
where time stops like an unfinished painting,
and we remain suspended in the moment that embraces us,
when we emerge, we let the water continue its story,
we dress in the ensuing silence as in a sacred garment,
speaking of trifles that become everything in our cosmos,
for there is no need for more when you learn to live in the miracle of the moment,
and if ever you leave, my love, do it like a whisper slipping into the night,
like a star that slowly fades, gently, so I do not feel the sky tearing,
but only your light that shone in our quiet noons.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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