Solomon poem.

 “For behold, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. 

The flowers appear on the earth, and the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land. 

The fig tree ripens its figs, and the vines are in blossom; they give forth fragrance. 

Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come away.”

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Regard my dear.

  In sacred hall where echoes rise. Your voice became my sweetest skies.  And in that moment, time stood still. I felt the heavens lean and sing. As if the angels graced that night. For every verse, a sacred sign- That voice was made to touch the divine.
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Opposite shores.

  The sun reached horizon, waves lapping at your feet, the warmth of sand cradling your dreams, each tide is a promise. Linger in the shadows of tall  pines, where the air is crisp and still, the whisper of rainwater falls, each flake a memory, delicate and fleeting. Two worlds apart, your laughter carried by the wind, my silence wrapped in the frost, in the distance, the ocean stretches wide, a bridge of longing, where souls meet, if only for a moment.
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