Between the ancient strokes of willow branches
Where moonlight spills its silver on emerald glades,
Passion flows like a river untamed,
Intertwined with mysteries woven by nature's hand.
A place where whispers breathe beneath the skin,
Beneath the gentle caress of a night's tender kiss.
Whispered histories guard the space between vines—
Secrets echo softly, a symphony of sighs,
Some sweet as nectar, others sharp like thorns,
Yet all are treasures wrapped in veil-strung light.
Silence, drenched in deceitful beauty,
Crouches in corners, laughing at those less wary.
Let us muse there, you and I,
In the glade where shadow and silver dance,
To the music of invisible winds.
Let us weave our fates, tangled with roots,
Beneath the canopy of night’s intoxicated song.