Poet 
: 5
Beneath celestial tides, we drift—
your laughter, a comet stitching the sky.
Each road bends like a whispered secret,
your hand the compass I trust.
Salt-kissed shores trace our shadows long,
horizons blush where your gaze begins.
We name constellations after fleeting towns—
Rio, Kyoto, Marrakech—each syllable a hymn.
Through emerald forests, your voice hums maps,
moss clings to time as we lose the trail.
Mountains bow to your stubborn stride,
their snows melting into our shared tale.
No atlas holds what we’ve etched in wind—
the ache of deserts, cities dissolved to dawn.
Love, not a destination, but the miles spun,
two restless souls where the earth still yawns.