A narrative unspoken, standing tall.
Unfurled the threads, across the land.
Awakening what lay before.
For youthful strength, wild and free.

A pressure, gentle, on my shoulder pressed,
His hand, a weight, his age confessed.
Not harsh, but firm, a comfort deep,
A silent story, secrets to keep.
His eyes, a well of wisdom old and wise,
Reflected kindness in their gentle lies.
A smile, a canvas painted soft and slow,
Whispered of moments, long ago.
No need for words, his gaze held me in thrall,
A narrative unspoken, standing tall.

A history etched upon his face so kind,
A tapestry of years, a love entwined.
The weight of years, a burden, yet a grace,
A whispered promise, time and space.
His grip, a comfort, strong and true,
A bond of ages, me and you.
A weight, a knot, within me bound,
A silent scream, a stifled sound.
His gaze, a hawk's, a gentle hand,
Unfurled the threads, across the land.

Where shadows danced and fears took hold,
His eyes, like stars, a story told.
No longer dread, but whispered plea,
A curious spark, ignited free.
Across my skin, a tender touch,
Replaced the fear, with something much
More thrilling, deep, a vibrant hue,
A rising tide, a burning dew.
His gaze, a map, of whispered lore,
Awakening what lay before.

The tension eased, the body's grace,
A symphony of time and space.
A blush of rose, a tender thing,
Enfolded tight, where passion sings.
His fingers traced, a careful hold,
A story whispered, slow and bold.
Around the bud, a gentle press,
A silent dance, a loving caress.
His touch, a flame, a whispered plea,
For youthful strength, wild and free.

Tomaž Jevšenak