In moments of closeness, intimacy near,
My voice silenced by desire's ghost,
Yet my need to praise you remains clear.
I'd study each gesture, each delicate sign,
My fingers would speak what my lips cannot say,
Learning a language that makes silence divine,
To tell you you're beautiful in every way.
When passion steals words from my tongue,
My hands would still whisper your name,
Spelling out wonder as if stars were strung
Across night skies that can't contain.
In the sacred quiet of our shared space,
When breath catches short and words disappear,
I'd find new ways to trace your face,
With symbols that make my devotion clear.
For love isn't bound to a single tongue,
It seeks every channel to make itself known,
And in those moments when we come undone,
I'd speak with my hands when words have flown.
Some things worth saying deserve every means—
The shape of my fingers, the touch of my palm,
The arc of my wrist as it intervenes
To break through silence with eloquent calm.
I'd learn any language, create one anew,
If it meant I could tell you, in our closest hours,
That even in wordlessness, my love stays true,
And your beauty remains beyond my powers.
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