Her voice, a river of steady flame,  
Eyes alight with purpose, untamed.  
Depth in silence, a boundless creed,  
Each word she breathes a living seed.  

A truth she holds, fierce and alive,  
Through storms of doubt, she’ll always strive.  
Passion, her compass, her soul’s demand,  
A world ignites beneath her hand.

Mouths met, a soft, slow press,
No deeper drive, no need to confess.
Just lips aligned, a gentle art,
A meeting of minds, a beating heart.

Fingers brushed, a feather's grace,
A smile exchanged, in time and space.
No hurried touch, no burning need,
Just quiet joy, a planted seed.

Eyes locked, a silent vow,
To cherish now, this sacred now.
A gentle breath, a whispered word,
A connection felt, but never heard.

A soul's embrace, a spirit's flight,
Bathing bathed in pale moonlight.
No fleshly claim, no earthly bind,
Just peace and calm, for heart and mind.

A sound broke the silent air,  
sharper than any jagged stone.  
Tongues braced, a fire was born;  
shapes rose, carved not in bone.  

From breath, the first blade grew.  
Speech bled where fists withdrew.  
Peace stumbled, new on its feet.  
Words began what stones complete.

I asked the donkey:
“O long-eared sage, how do you know the mark of a lie?”

He swayed his tail and said:
“O son of the witch, beware the tongue that swears too much.
For the oath is the cloak of the weak,
And the lie leans on it like a ******* on a crutch.
Truth needs no witness but itself;
It shines, and belief follows.”

I laughed:
“So, donkey, you are wiser than many who walk upright.”

The donkey brayed in laughter:
“Hahaha!
And that, my friend,
Is the very truth that enrages them most.”

They call me womaniser
a man who knows the hearts of women,
yet has not been claimed by love.
I do not wear it as a shame,
but as a gentle crown.
For mine is not the way of conquest,
but of respect, of kindness.
I move not with careless touch,
but with words
verses that linger upon the heart
before any hand may seek the soul.
Yes, I am a womaniser,
but one who listens, one who cares,
one who honours every glance and every sigh.
Still, I wander, waiting
for the one whose presence
will silence my riddles,
whose love will name me
not womaniser,
but beloved.

Whisky warm and brown,
Poured gentle in my glass,
Not just to gulp it down.

A little buzz it brings,
A lighter, looser feel,
The way my spirit sings.

Ice clinks a chilly song,
Or neat, a fiery kiss,
Where I belong.

Just a sip or two,
That's all I really need,
To see the world anew.

So here’s to me
seriously.
Cheers.

Beneath her gaze, the heavens stir.  
Each syllable, a glowing ember’s blur.  
She weaves the wind with quiet grace,  
Carves poetry in the moon's embrace.  

A witch’s son, her craft I see
A rose blushes with her decree.  
Her whispers, soft as dawn’s first light,  
Transform the stars to flames of night.