Beneath the stars’ gentle caress, we lie,
Wrapped in the whispers of Neruda’s lines,
Each word a soft brush against our souls,
Painting our love with timeless hues.

In the quiet of night, your eyes meet mine,
A silent sonnet of desire and dreams,
As if Neruda himself had penned our fate,
With ink made from the essence of our hearts.

Every touch, a stanza in our shared poem,
Each kiss, a metaphor of endless passion,
We dance to the rhythm of his verses,
Lost in the symphony of love’s embrace.

Our hearts, bound by the poet’s spell,
Speak in a language only lovers know,
Guided by Neruda’s profound whispers,
We become one, in the poetry of our love.