"Flesh—latticed in hush,
pinions bloom along their span—
pearled ache, ascending."
— (Dove in Bloom)

Vianne, you write of ache with wings,
of pain that rises, quiet and silver-lit,
as if sorrow itself could take flight.
Your words breathe in the hush of night,
leaving echoes in the marrow of silence.

"Moon spills in silver—
a fish arcs through drowning light,
the tide gulps its ghost."
— (Eclipsed Tide)

You catch the moment where light drowns,
where loss glows before vanishing.
A fleeting wisp, a spectral inhale—
a beauty held just long enough to ache.

"Willow bows, exhaled—
a hundred arms swaying slow,
braiding hush with time."
— (The Willow’s Breath)

Time does not pass in your verses—
it exhales, it braids itself into the wind,
swaying between presence and absence,
where every whisper lingers.

"Chevy lilts down arteries
stitched in coral marrow,
leather still inked with your laughter."
— (A Note Held Past Silence)

You write memory like it breathes,
like laughter can be sewn into the bones,
like voices don’t fade but dissolve
into the space between heartbeats.

"She dances where gravity forgets,
laughter drips slow as melting wax—
feral, fleeting, free."
— (Tiny Dancer)

There is something wild in your words,
something untamed, yet delicate—
a fleeting step beyond the known,
where even gravity dares not follow.  

Vianne, your poetry lingers—
like dusk humming against the tide,
like the hush before the willow exhales,
like a note held just past silence.

You don’t just write—
you let words breathe,
you let them ache,
you let them be.

And in that—
they are enough.

why is it bittersweet
when you wander in my mind
since you sent me your eyes in a frame,
a moment in time, forever confined

you stared ahead , lost in the view
and I wished it was me you were looking through

so hollow and deep , it pulled me near
blurring my sight , dissolving my fear
my world grew smaller, my mind went still
a warmth that burned , yet gave me a thrill

I fear if your gaze ever met mine,
you'd swallow me whole - and I'd think it was divine

You walk backwards into dusk,  
feet pressing softly into the sand,  
watching gold melt into violet,  
as if the sky itself were slipping  
into something more comfortable.  

I watch you, always watching,  
the way your hair catches the last light,  
how the wind tries to tangle you in its arms—  
but you are already held, already mine,  
moving toward me even as you walk away.  

You are beautiful like this—  
not just in the glow of the setting sun,  
but in every quiet moment in between,  
in the way your laughter lingers like seafoam,  
in the way your eyes hold the horizon,  
as if you could keep this moment from fading away.
To me, you are the sunset,  
the tide, the sky, its endless depth—  
and I could spend forever watching you.  

Isn’t love like this?  
Moving forward while looking back,  
trusting what’s ahead, knowing what’s behind—  
our footprints stretching side by side,  
even when the tide comes to claim them.  

We walk like this through life,  
not always seeing the road before us,  
but stepping in time, heart to heart,  
toward something we don’t need to name,  
because it is already ours.