Shall I rise with the sun
if I have not met you in the hush between stars?

The night opens like a velvet vow,
and in its cradle, your presence lingers
not flesh, not form,
but fragrance and fire,
a name I’ve never spoken
yet know by heart.

Your touch is the ghost of warmth on my shoulder,
a breath-shaped echo
that turns silence into music.

Willows trees gently lean as though in prayer,
and the air—sweet with unseen jasmine
carries your myth
from a place no map can hold.

I walk each night where dream and stardust fold
a golden bridge not made, but remembered.
Each step I take becomes a question,
each shadow, a verse of your arrival.

Petals fall in my sleep like oracles
blossoms louder than thunder,
soft as a soul unbreaking.

Outside, the world claws at the glass,
its engines loud with dust and desire.
But here
within this ink-lit hush,
my heart remains still,
alive only in the firelight of your approach.

Now I know this body is a vessel of mist,
a brief echo of something truer.
And so I dream not to escape,
but to arrive
at you,
who waits beyond the veil
like dawn behind the last forgetting.

Let the world clamor.
I will not answer.
I have a star to follow.
And your name burns brighter
with every step deeper into the dream.