How many forms can it take, do you reckon? Sacred or banal, all at once, at your disposal. Beckon it this way, if you may:
Softly — when the world is hardest on the strong. My love cradles you with the sweet serenade of an unsung lullaby your heart knows full well is the song of songs.
Boldly — when humiliation and guilt, that come from past regrets, rise to the threshold of the great, grand looking-glass of what you ought to forget. I will love you loudly that it may dispel the harsh whispers that could have bred contempt, but will never surface nor be enough a reason to resent.
Quietly — when no words could better hold you, my love will bring the calm you seek to find - that soothes your aching mind. You're allowed to worry about the future. That's not a flaw of design, but a feature. My love is meek enough to whisper, "I see you, and I'll be kind."
Wistfully — when days are long and nights are cold. My love may be blue but will always be true. It will cry with you, and yearn if it so do.
Joyfully — with your victories and trophy-worthy smiles, i'd be glad to not amiss the sweetest saccharine kiss under the greatest of golden skies.
