Lanterns drift in secret skies,
echoing our midnight ties;
whispers laced with hidden gleam,
sewing dreams within a dream.
Through the glass of glowing screens,
songs and laughter thread between;
ghostly miles dissolve and fade,
woven in the vows we made.
Snacks in hand, we chase the day,
empanadas, skies of gray;
simple feasts by cradled trees,
savored sweet by you and me.
Schoolyard benches hold our tales,
in the hush of wistful trails;
grasping hands through fleeting hours,
catching stars that bend and flower.
Tuned to every soft inhale,
silent gossips we unveil;
in each breath, a vow concealed,
through each grin, a scar is healed.
Faithful echoes we impart,
carving anchors in the heart;
storm or silence, rain or flame,
still the chords remain the same.
Wounded skies may sometimes fall,
yet we brave and cradle all;
whittling thorns from broken years,
crafting songs from fallen tears.
No betrayals shall we taste,
no sweet moment shall we waste;
fingers weave a tighter thread,
through the storms we forge ahead.
Oaths are stitched in quiet light,
held by dusk and kissed by night;
when the tempests claw and bite,
we still shield each other's flight.
Tangled dreams of future seas,
names we bless upon the breeze;
Elliah shall hear our call,
singing through the highest wall.
Steps shall stumble, lips shall bleed,
yet we know what gardens need;
tending roots through rain and fire,
feeding silent, wild desire.
In her voice, my seasons turn,
in her gaze, the sunsets burn;
threads of morning braid her name,
binding stars to earthly flame.
Stories rise from whispered sparks,
warming all the broken parts;
with her hand, I stitch the seams,
with her laugh, I forge my dreams.
Guided by a distant tune,
swaying under bashful moon;
no deception mars our skies,
only truths behind our eyes.
She becomes my woven prayer,
etched in light and tender care;
time may break the stones and glass,
but not bonds that gently pass.
Silent are the seeds we sow,
rooted deep where rivers flow;
fields of trust and faithful streams,
harvested through endless dreams.
Every touch a sacred creed,
every glance a planted seed;
she, the vessel of my skies,
she, the flame that never dies.
Not with gold nor fleeting fame,
but with breath and sacred flame;
ours the echo, ours the flight,
ours the hush of sacred night.
Come what sorrow, come what fight,
still we build our wings by night;
still we keep our garden whole,
still we sing with boundless soul.
Thus I vow with every bone,
in the marrow of the stone;
she, the song my soul shall keep,
through all waking and all sleep.