The rain weaves its fingers through my hair,
like your love, sinking into every strand of my being.
Each drop, a syllable in the poem of us,
each breeze, the hush of your voice against my skin.

The clouds drift above, not mere vapor,
but the outstretched arms of your devotion,
hovering, shielding, wrapping me in whispers of forever.

I am not science, no formula to decode,
no equation seeking balance—
I am the ink that bleeds into parchment,
the unchained verse, reckless and free.

I love you like the moon loves the tides,
pulled by forces unseen, unmeasured—
like a comet that forgets its path,
falling, falling, into the gravity of you.