In the softness of a fleeting breeze,
A gentle touch that none can seize,
It whispers secrets through the air,
A silent promise, tender and rare.

Fingers trace the lines of fate,
In every touch, a moment’s weight,
A dance of whispers, soft and slow,
Where time itself begins to flow.

Beneath the stars, in quiet night,
A gentle touch, a heart’s delight,
It speaks in warmth, in silent grace,
A language found in each embrace.

In every touch, a story told,
A timeless bond that never grows old,
The gentle whisper of the soul,
In every touch, we find our whole.