Woven Cadence

[Verse 1]
The hum of the fridge, a low, electric drone,
Our silent symphony, just heartbeats and bone.
Your palm, a warm filament across my back,
Tracing the quiet cadence of our well-worn track.
The ghost of coffee, Addis' deep perfume,
Fills this small kitchen, a memory in bloom.

[Chorus]
We slow dance, no music, just the hum,
Where threads of old memories softly come.
Two bodies swaying, a silent grace,
A bittersweet rhythm in this holy place.

[Verse 2]
The moonlight casts a fresco on the old stone wall,
Where grandmothers' laughter still seems to fall.
A faint scent of sun-dried figs, a Tuscan kiss,
A gentle weaving of what was and what is.
My fingers trace the worn seam of your shirt,
A quiet comfort, easing every hurt.

[Bridge]
Perhaps one day, this quiet hum will cease to be,
This woven moment, just a ghost for memory.
But now, your heartbeat, a drum against my ear,
The most ancient language, holding us so near.

[Outro]
Just the fridge's low hum, and this sacred thread,
A silent promise, softly, silently said.