He leaves his love as petals on the breeze,
That dance and drift with soft, unspoken ease.
Though parted hands from love’s embrace must stray,
The petals linger, love’s touch shall not decay.

A stain eternal, joy and sweet content,
Impressed on time—a heart’s true testament.
Ink flows like tears upon his fragile page,
To reach her warmth, his tender words engage.

An infinite force, it lights the twilight’s span,
Though night ascends, its shadows cannot ban
The stars’ eternal glow, their whispers deep,
A love that even in the dark does keep.

Each syllable a fragment of his soul,
An entry to a haven, pure and whole.
A garden vast, where spirits wander free,
Through fields of bloom, past streams of memory.

Yet keys to such a place, in shadow lie,
Awaiting her soft touch to testify.
He writes not for the fleeting breath of years,
But for the echoes love eternal steers.

For we, mere threads within love’s boundless realm,
Are woven close beneath words' mighty helm.
A force both fierce and gentle to behold,
Unseen, yet endless, more precious than gold.

Locked deep within, it stirs the soul’s vast sea,
Yearning to blend with all eternity.