THE MAP FOR ALL MY NIGHTS

His eyes hold honey, spilled in gentle light,

A molten hush that brightens every night.

Two vertical rivers, line the start of his nose,

A noble bridge where every secret flows.

A long, soft nose, a profile traced in a simple, honest grace;

a gentle route my hand adopts along the landscape of his face.

Beneath it rests a quiet contour where unspoken meanings flow,

a soft alignment forming in the depths he doesn’t show.

A beard kept modest, tamed into a line,

Each strand a whisper of something almost mine.

A broad forehead where winters learn their part,

A ledger of storms, the atlas of his heart.

His brows arc like quiet shadows, one crossed by a slender scar,

a silent mark guarding the truth that he might never carve.

When lids fall inward, galaxy-visions start,

He travels a world in the quiet of his heart.

I hold him at the centre, my hand easing into his beat;

my fingers brush the curve beneath his throat, then pause in quiet retreat.

Along his shoulder, over collarbone, the silence shifts to sway

a gentle breath, a hush unspooled, as devotion finds its way.

There’s a quiet mystery in the way his heart begins to move,
soft shadows holding secrets only tenderness can prove.
His silence isn’t distance, but a language that he keeps,
a hidden vow unfolding where his growing feeling sleeps.

He meets my restless edges and keeps my centre true;

his stillness is the compass by which my scattered stars regroup.

Through silence and through distance, our rhythm stays in tune,

two hearts revolving softly beneath one patient moon.

And when he looks my way, eyes rising into light,

the whole world leans toward quiet beneath that steady sight.

His gaze calls distant galaxies close, then sends them on their way,

unfinished in their wanderings, yet perfect in their sway.

Shadows shift in gentle patterns, mapping out the softer part;

for underneath the crooked lines there lives a steady heart.

A quiet constancy within him burns more true than any art;

I stay, and he protects; together we form one humble star.

And at the fall of night, where every distant star is crowned,

I trace the softer constellations in the quiet where he’s found.

What should have passed me by instead moves toward me by design,

and the sky folds into itself around his quiet love and mine.