It's not always letters
or riddles to decode.
It's not always earth-shattering
nor felt in your bones.
Dripping in secrecy,
mysteries undone,
that small spark of the unknown
is what makes love so fun.
I like the romance
and sometimes the games;
if we both give the effort,
our hearts should beat the same.
My love not always
loud as lightning–
it's knowing without proof,
a gentle rift in the veil,
my doorway to truth.
Behind the curtain
of my quiet,
the moon keeps every vow.
I don't need loud confessions–
I feel your thoughts somehow.
So let me love you in stillness,
where the world fades to mist,
where answers are not spoken,
rather sensed, even wished.
Shoulder resting on a pillar
here in my sacred space,
star-watching for a constellation that remembers the details of your face.
Dec 9, 2025
Dec 9, 2025 at 10:39 AM UTC
It's not always letters
or riddles to decode.
It's not always earth-shattering
nor felt in your bones.
Dripping in secrecy,
mysteries undone,
that small spark of the unknown
is what makes love so fun.
I like the romance
and sometimes the games;
if we both give the effort,
our hearts should beat the same.
My love not always
loud as lightning–
it's knowing without proof,
a gentle rift in the veil,
my doorway to truth.
Behind the curtain
of my quiet,
the moon keeps every vow.
I don't need loud confessions–
I feel your thoughts somehow.
So let me love you in stillness,
where the world fades to mist,
where answers are not spoken,
rather sensed, even wished.
Shoulder resting on a pillar
here in my sacred space,
star-watching for a constellation that remembers the details of your face.
Request permission to use this poem