She holds a box, a sacred place,
Wrapped in mystery, warmth, and grace.
A whisper deep, a velvet flame,
That draws the wild and speaks no name.

It opens not for just a key,
But truth, and touch, and reverie.
A temple carved in silken skin,
Where both storms and dreams begin.

To know her box is not to take,
But feel the quake the stars awake—
A gift, a gate, a world untamed,
Forever hers, though never claimed.