You say you love me
yet the question lingers like incense in a ruined temple.
Tell me, why, oh why?

I carved your name into the bark of an ageless tree,
and the tree whispered it to the winds of eternity.
You traced mine upon a passing shore,
and the tide erased me before the gulls had seen.

The rains fall, bearing stories wounded by time;
your name glimmers through their tears,
while mine dissolves into silence.

I spoke of you to neighbors,
and their lamps burned brighter.
You spoke of me to water,
and the river carried me away.

At night, beneath the hidden star,
they gathered to tell your story.
My shadow passed among them,
but no one called my name.

I held the rose you gave me,
pressed it into scripture,
hid it beneath my pillow as though it were prayer.
I gave you a vessel to hold my soul,
and you let it shatter into dust.

And still you say:
“I love you beyond all speech.”

If love is so vast,
why do I stand nameless at its gate?
Why do you love me?
Tell me, why, oh why?

She says, "All men betray,"
a curse she hurls away.
Not every soul she's known,
but one made grief her own.

He was her single light,
her moon against the night.
He cracked trust’s fragile seam,
and "all" became her scream.

One minute after midnight,
I stumbled out of the pub.
A young woman blocked my way.
“Stop,” she said.
“Yes, dear,” I answered.
Then she told me,
“I think you’re the one my heart wants.”
I grinned,
“Look behind you.”
She turned.
I added,
“See? That proves I’m not the one.”
And I kept walking,
thinking maybe it wasn’t wisdom at all
just the whisky talking.

A pillow princess, soft, aware,
her sigh a spell, her breath a prayer.
Emerald eyes, half-closed, half-known,
a feline grace that is her throne.
She blooms by touch, by whispered plea,
a lover’s gift, ecstasy.
Silken threads of longing bind,
a vow half-spoken, left behind.
Beneath the jest, a spirit kind,
playful, daring, yet refined.
In shadows deep her fire grows,
a purring secret no one knows.
Respect her still, with tender hand,
with grace that few can understand.
For yielding too is sovereign art,
a gift of trust, a sovereign heart.
For we are cats—wild, yet tamed,
our longings caged, yet never shamed.
A touch received, a gaze that stays
the princess reigns in softer ways.
And pardon—yes, I am a man.
I learned to cherish all I can:
to honor giving, fierce, forgiving,
by learning well the art of receiving.

Your absence aches.
Your presence calms.
The pendulum between the two
beats the rhythm of my lungs.
You are the air.

Knuckles call the night, the dark throat swells, echoes wail.

Your face, dawn's whisper, shatters this shadowed silence.

Knock, and I am whole again.

Upon whose shoulder shall I rest this night,
In winter's chill, with shadows deep and white?
If warmth departs, and comfort takes its flight,
You, only you, can banish winter's blight.

A whispered dream, a solace soft and true,
Held close within your arms, forever new.
You are the haven, where my spirit's hue,
Reflects the world, in colours bright and true.

You, in my heart, a tapestry of grace,
With roses woven, in a tender embrace.
A love entwined, a bond beyond compare,
Where whispered words, and silent moments share,
A world of wonder, filled with love's sweet air.