Between the Words

It is not what we speak aloud

that holds us here beneath the dusk,

but all the gentle silences

we dare to share without a name.

A turning hand upon the sleeve,

a breath that falls in steady grace,

the quiet knowing in a room

before the shadows claim the place.

Between each syllable you breathe,

I hear the promises you keep,

and in the hush of falling night,

love finds a harbor, calm and deep.