Let me talk to you with my hands,
trace subtle caresses in the air,
draw silent stories on your skin,
whispers that the wind repels.
My fingers weave verses in silence,
skilful in the dance of touching,
with each movement, a heartbeat,
with every touch, the soul unwinds.
With words that are not spoken
but which echo in the echo of looks,
with the secret language that nests
between your pores, where dreams are poisoned.
Let me speak to you, love, without sounds,
that in the half-light the silence speaks,
and in every gesture the deep is revealed,
like the sea that never ends on the shore.
Let me approach you, without haste,
with my fingers drawing your story,
in that language of skin and soul,
keeping the secret in memory.