Longing For Her Lips

I did not come
to hear the echo of my mind—
I came to taste
how far the beloved’s voice
can stretch across the veil,
how even absence
can sing.

I came to be steeped
in the hush between His names,
to drink the breath
that threads through silence
like a reed longing
for the lips of the eternal.

The music—
not made of sound,
but of return.
The song—
not sung,
but unveiled.

Have you truly heard?
It takes the heart of a moth
to bear such fire—
to be lit
without burning,
to vanish
without leaving.