Upon the edge of twilightâs gentle sigh,
Your lips, a shade of crimson dreams, do lie.
They speak of tales untold in silent grace,
A tender dance in the moonlit embrace.
Soft as the whisper of a nightâs caress,
They hold the secrets of the heartâs recess.
In every curve, a story yet to weave,
A promise of the dawn they shall conceive.
Beneath the stars, their song begins to bloom,
A melody that chases away the gloom.
With every touch, a world anew they paint,
A canvas of desire, pure and quaint.
Oh, silent song of lips in nightâs embrace,
You guide the heart to find its sacred place.
In every word unspoken, love does speak,
A timeless bond that words can never break.