In petal hush, a promise pressed,
Where light and longing softly rest,
Two lips of blush in dawn’s first gleam,
Embrace within a fragrant dream.
No thunderclap, no wind’s parade,
Just one still bloom in velvet shade,
Its tender hue, a whispered sigh—
A kiss that does not ask us why.
It leans into the golden breath,
Unfurling life, defying death,
And in that bloom, so small, so brave,
Lies all the love we’d ever crave.
She does not turn, but leans into the light,
A bloom half-facing where the shadows fall.
Her fragrance clings to wings not yet in flight,
The hush before the heart can say it all.
She offers not an end, but slow goodbye,
A tenderness still resting on the air—
Not absence yet, but soft and asking why
The space between begins to feel so bare.
This love still warms, though gently pulls away,
Its golden thread unspools from hand to hand.
Not lost, not left—just drifting from today,
Still close enough the other understands.
So let it pass, not broken but set free,
A gift once shared that floats toward memory.
They bloomed beside each other once in time,
Two gentle hearts in parallel repose.
No need for vows, no reason, nor a rhyme—
Just closeness held as softly as a rose.
Now petals curve in separate, quiet arcs,
Their faces turned as if in silent prayer.
The space between them whispers faded sparks,
Not lost, but resting in the evening air.
No storm, no fall, no cruel or harsh goodbye—
Just tenderness that learned to let things be.
A love not gone, but settled in the sky,
Like stars that shine for those who choose to see.
So let it rest where quiet hearts have bled,
A bloom once kissed, now glowing gold and red.
Sanctum of Color
Within this bloom, a quiet temple grows,
Where
hues like prayers ascend on silent breath—
A cobalt psalm, a
blush in saffron throes,
Each petal shaped by time, desire, and
death.
The lilies lean like sentinels of dusk,
Their stems entwined
in green cathedral light—
A hush of violet, incense rich as
musk,
Burnt umber fading into solemn night.
No voice is raised; the silence sings instead—
A hymn of
flame, of dusk, of tender bloom,
Their grace not spoken but
divinely spread
Across the frame—a votive at its tomb.
So let them stand, where reverence takes root,
And beauty
dwells in luminous pursuit.
