AMBER OF THE SOUL

You move like dusk remembering light,
a hush between thunder and prayer.
Your words—salt on the wound of silence—
make the stars blink slower, aware.

You are the weight of a vanished storm,
still pressing on the ribs of air.
I think of you when glass forgets its form,
when smoke becomes almost fair.

You hold both wound and remedy,
a paradox too human to mend.
Love is never gentle with its saints—
it burns, and calls that burn a friend.

And I—
I am the echo of your unrest,
the ghost that hums where your heart has been.
You are the ache that taught me grace,
my amber soul, my Glycerin.

:: 11.04.2025 ::