Night radio host

In the hush of twilight, 
when the world softens into shadows, 
I tune in to the warmth of his voice, 
a low hum that runs through my veins, 
each syllable a velvet caress, 
wrapping me in whispers of chilly nights. 

He speaks with a charm forged in laughter, 
intelligence woven like threads of gold— 
stories unfolding under moonlit skies, 
where time bends and I am lost.   
I close my eyes; I can almost touch him,   
his presence radiates through the static. 

Oh, how the distance blurs! 
An age apart yet he feels so near;   
he is an echo of dreams I dare not speak— 
the older soul who knows the weight of stars. 

With every broadcast, he gathers pieces of me,   
the longing spills like ink on blank pages—   
desire cradled in silence between our lives;   
a sweet ache blooming beneath my skin.   

I imagine his laughter spilling like wine— 
rich and intoxicating—a melody that lingers,   
witty banters hanging on airwaves;   
words exchanged like sacred vows at dusk.   

In this space between reality and yearning,   
he is everything: my compass and anchor;   
an uncharted territory where love exists—   
not bound by flesh but anchored in spirit.   

And as night deepens around us both,   
I surrender to this dream-like connection—    
the man whose voice reignites every flicker;    
who transforms solitude into a profound vision      
of all I’ve ever wanted but could never name.   

So here I remain, a captive to desire—      
lost yet found in his embrace across miles;      
forever listening for that velvety timbre      
to pull me from day into night once more. 

[2023]