Love is not just skin and heartbeats,
it is the subtle dance of a thought,
a whisper in the breeze, a wounded verse,
a fire that burns, hot and slow.
It is the deep echo of an abyss,
where the soul looks out fearfully,
looking inward, searching for rhythm,
baring the eternal behind what is pink.
It is the shared laughter of an instant,
the gaze that speaks in silent silences,
it is an embrace in constant time,
a refuge drawn in longed-for dreams.
To love is a journey, without map or destination,
a labyrinth where the essence is found,
it is the touch of hands, the divine stroke,
the art of loving, in its pure presence.