There is a space between our hands,
A breath, a whisper, a fleeting strand.
Not distance, no, something more,
A longing wrapped in silken lore.

I reach for you across the night,
My fingertips brush air and light.
Yet in the quiet, in the deep,
Your heartbeat hums beneath my sleep.

Love is not in what we hold,
Nor silver chains nor rings of gold.
It lives between, it fills the air,
A space unseen, but always there.