The snows retreat, our longing begins crafting dreams, hope.
Like autumn’s hush, at our feet slip silken seams, hope.

The daily grind lives, yet in your arms I’m home, hope.
We long to sip again where skin’s moonlit gleams, hope.

Short days? We’ll stitch the dark with moans—no guilt, no worries, hope.
Your pulse, my compass—we’ll sail this thaw like a stream, hope.

No holidays—we’ll burn the hours in sweat’s hot baths, hope.
Your nails carve rivers where my shivers melt to cream, hope.

No sun? We’ll braid our shadows into one fevered trance, hope.
Your tongue maps constellations where my hips scream, hope.

Resolutions faded, we invent new desires, hope.
Savoring new rhythms, our lips capture sunlit beams, hope.

Secret places—your mouth, a vineyard, overgrown, free, hope.  
We’ll bloom where the soil forgets frost, where wild things seem, hope.

Luna & Sol—no storm can quench what our skins believe, hope.
In Gaia’s soothing haven, we chase our wildest schemes, hope.