Summer
In the hawthorn’s shadow,
where blackbirds stitch the dusk with song,
The evening light spills like honey
slowing the rush of the day.
There you are.
Your beauty unfolds,
a delicate mystery,
like the moon’s shy ascent.
Your eyes, blue and deep,
hold a night’s worth of stars,
each glance a bright constellation.
I am drawn to the angles of you,
the sharp edges softened by dusk,
each glance a new geometry
to decipher.
We speak in fragments,
stories scattering
like seeds on the breeze.
Your voice, a current
running through rivers of silence,
pulls me under,
to where words are fish,
silver and swift,
flashing secrets in the murk.