Her Heart’s Soft Waves

The feminine blooms in the glow of the sun,

A flower open, craving to be seen by one,

While the masculine stands in shadow’s fold,

A watchful moon, a witness bold.

His gaze, a breeze that stirs her leaves,

Draws out the light that softly weaves

Through her veins—a dance, a hidden fire,

Lit not by hunger, but by quiet desire.

When he lets go of wanting, of need,

He learns to see the roots beneath the seed,

And feels the ripple in her stream,

A pulse of life, a whispered dream.

Her presence, like wine, should flood his chest,

Wake the wildness, bring out his best.

For she is the siren’s call to sail,

The wind in his lungs, the spirit in the gale.

She doesn’t seek just the fleeting glance,

But the walk through her forest, the deeper trance.

To know her storms, the skies she tames,

To feel the stars fueling her flames.

For love is her lantern, a flickering flame,

That dims the world’s shallow, glittering claim.

Without its glow, all treasures fall,

Like autumn leaves in a barren hall.

So if he cannot trace her heart’s soft waves,

How can he hope to be the one she saves?

To see her depths, to feel her sea—

Is to touch the soul she longs to be.