When morning light spills through lace curtains,
painting shadows on your sleeping face,
I count the gentle rhythms of your breath
like precious stones in an ancient treasure chest.

The world outside grows wild with spring—
Sunflowers stretching toward pale sunlight,
Pink blossoms drifting like snow,
but none so beautiful as your smile
when you first open your eyes.

Time moves differently in our space:
measured not in minutes or hours
but in shared cups of coffee,
in the way you trace circles on my palm,
in lazy Sunday afternoons that stretch.

You've collected all my scattered pieces,
smoothed their jagged edges into something whole.
Who knew love could be so simple—
found in e shop store aisles,
in borrowed sweatshirts,
in the quiet symphony of two hearts
beating in perfect time?

Let others write of blazing passion,
of stars exploding into verse
I'll take these small infinities:
your hand in mine,
the sound of your laughter,
the way you make ordinary moments
shine like polished gold.

not in grand gestures or soaring declarations,
but in the gentle current that carries us
through each day, each year,
each lifetime we'll share together.

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