dawn's gentle caress

In the quietude of this room,
Where shadows linger like the remnants of forgotten dreams,
I sit and watch her—the love of my life—
Embraced by the arms of sleep.

The world outside is just stirring,
But here, time stands still,
And all that exists is her
And the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

The dawn, with its painter's touch,
Adorns her with a crown of golden light.
It dances upon her skin,
A delicate waltz of warmth and radiance.

Each beam of light, a tender caress from the sun itself,
Seems to honor her presence,
Her beauty, her peace.

How the sunlight loves her!
It weaves through her hair,
Creating a halo of fire around her head.

It kisses her cheeks, her closed eyelids,
And I find myself envious of its intimacy.
The softness of her breath,
The subtle movements of slumber—

They speak to me in a language older than words,
A language of the heart.

She is my muse, my melody
In a world often too harsh for such tender notes.
In her, I find solace,
A sanctuary where my weary soul can rest.

And as the sun heralds the arrival of a new day,
I am reminded that with her,
Every day is a rebirth,
A chance to love and be loved with the purity of morning's first light.

And so, I wait, for her eyes to open,
For her smile to greet the day,
For her voice to fill the air.

But for now, I am content to be the silent witness
To this daily miracle—the awakening of her spirit
As the world awakens around us.

Yes, the sun has risen,
But none shines brighter than she does,
My love, my life, my dawn.