You are my verb,
the action that moves me,
the heartbeat that refuses to sit still.
I am your adverb,
softly, deeply, endlessly,
I color the way you love.
And apparently,
they say it’s a noun,
this thing we share.
A name, a place, a truth we hold.
But love is more than grammar,
more than rules or forms.
It’s the sentence we keep writing,
without a final full stop.