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(A binding written in silver and shadow)

By the cold authority
of the watching moon,
I speak this curse
in a voice made of dusk
and wounded light.

Let the silver eye above
remember what they did.
Let it hold their names
in a place where
their shadows cannot hide.

Not to punish —
but to bind.

I cast this moonlit seal:
that every word they spoke
in envy,
in spite,
in smallness,
returns only to them
as silence.

Let their venom
lose its teeth.
Let their judgment
lose its aim.
Let their shadows
trip over themselves
before they ever reach me again.

By turquoise flame
and lunar breath,
I close the path
they used to wound me.
I lock the door
they slipped through.
I seal the crack
they exploited
when my heart was bright.

This is the curse:
their power over me ends here.

Not by harm,
not by wrath,
but by the moon’s
cold, perfect refusal
to let their darkness
touch me again.

And under that silver witness,
I rise —
untouched,
untaken,
unbroken —
a creature of night
they can no longer reach.

COMMENTS

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Cadrewolf2
06:04 Apr 29 2026

Great

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Some nights,
the darkness in me sits heavy,
a creature with slow breath
and colder hands.

And then you speak —
not with grand gestures,
not with bright declarations,
but with that effortless warmth
you don’t even know you carry.

It slips into the room
like a lantern that forgot
it was capable of shining.

You brighten the places
I never show anyone,
the corners where old shadows
curl like sleeping wolves.

You make me feel seen
without prying,
held
without touching,
special
without ever trying to be anything
but yourself.

There is a kind of magic in that —
quiet, steady,
the kind that doesn’t announce itself
yet changes everything it touches.

And I hope you know
that in the long corridors of my night,
your presence
is the soft, impossible light
that reminds me
I am not made only of shadows.

The moon hangs low tonight,
soft as a whispered promise,
and its silver glow settles over us
like a gentle hand smoothing the dark.

You curl against me,
warm and unhurried,
your breath brushing my chest
in a rhythm that feels older
than anything we could name.

The night wraps around us,
not heavy,
just enough to make the world fade
until it’s only your warmth
and the quiet pulse of the moment.

My fingers trace slow patterns
along your arm,
not asking for anything,
just learning the shape of your calm
in the moonlit hush.

You shift closer,
a soft sigh escaping you,
and it feels like the whole sky
leans in to listen.

There’s no urgency here,
no fire that burns too bright—
just a steady glow,
a shared warmth,
a gentle flame that flickers
between our bodies
and refuses to go out.

And in this quiet,
with the moon watching softly,
I realize how rare it is
to feel this safe,
this close,
this perfectly at ease
in someone’s arms.

COMMENTS

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Adain
06:06 Apr 25 2026

A gentle and beautiful poem and a pleasure to read. Soothing I find.

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Myrnda
06:34 Apr 25 2026

🙏 thank you

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Cadrewolf2
18:57 Apr 25 2026

Excellent words

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dracken
23:36 Apr 25 2026

The perfect Night by a fire

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You felt me before you saw me—
the way water feels the moon,
a pull beneath the ribs,
ancient and undeniable.

Two currents meeting in the dark,
silent at first,
but already choosing
how to drown together.

Your presence moved like deep water,
slow, knowing,
carrying secrets in its undertow.
Mine rose to meet it,
a tide answering a tide,
drawn by instinct older than breath.

We circled each other
like storms deciding whether to merge,
dangerous only because
we understood the cost of depth.

Your eyes held the kind of darkness
that doesn’t frighten—
the kind that invites,
that whispers of hidden caverns
and forbidden constellations
glimmering beneath the surface.

When you touched my thoughts,
not my skin,
the world shifted.
Two oceans aligning.
Two shadows recognizing
the shape of their own hunger.

No fire could match this.
No earth could anchor it.
Only water knows
how to love by becoming,
how to claim without taking,
how to pull another soul close
without ever breaking the surface.

And so we move—
tide to tide,
moon‑marked,
dangerous in our softness,
devoted in our depth,
two water signs
learning the art
of drowning gently
in each other’s dark.

COMMENTS

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dracken
22:49 Apr 24 2026

This is it, the water bomb : )

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Myrnda
22:50 Apr 24 2026

Lol why thank you 🙏

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