You walked in with two chipped mugs and a crooked grin,
Sunlight slid across the kitchen tile and found me in,
You hummed that song we steal from radio nights,
Left your scarf on the chair, your keys and freckles in the light.
When the quiet gathers around the edges of our day,
Do you feel the small electric things that pull us toward the sway?
My love, you're the morning light that lifts the blinds,
Turning ordinary aisles into a map of signs,
You fold the dust to fit the shape of my hands,
My love, with you I'm learning what steady really means,
There's a corner booth where we trade our little truths,
Your laugh still lives in the salt of our midnight foods,
You trace the scar on your knuckle like it's a compass line,
We mark the city on our shoes, every street a shared design.
When the shadows push and press like questions in the night,
Do you reach for the same small pulse that keeps our rhythm right?
My love, you're the morning light that lifts the blinds,
Turning ordinary aisles into a map of signs,
You fold the dust to fit the shape of my hands,
My love, I'll show you how my steady finally stands,
I kept a list of every promise we pretended not to make,
A map of tiny rescues, one late call, one dish I take,
If storms ask for rent, I'll give them both my hands in a coat,
I'll trade silence for a lighthouse,
Your name in every note,
My love, you're the morning light that wakes my streets,
You press the universe between two ordinary beats,
You fold the dark to fit the shape of my hands,
My love, if the world leans in, I will hold where you stand,
So take the chipped up mug, pour the coffee, keep the small ceremonies,
We'll spin the tide into gold, stitch our days with these economies,
My love, here's the better kind of brave, the slow and true command,
My love, keep walking close, I'll always know the shape of your hand.
