I love you as the earth loves its fire,
in silence, in secret,
where molten rivers dream beneath stone.
You rise like a mountain crowned in storms,
your silhouette carved by centuries of struggle,
and I—
I am the pilgrim who kneels at your edge,
listening to the hymn of your hidden heart.
Your body is a map of survival,
curves like rivers of flame frozen mid-flow,
scars shimmering like constellations
that only I have learned to read.
Others feared your blaze,
tried to tame what was never meant to be caged.
But I love the pressure building,
the wild pulse no one else can hold.
Your passions roar like the earth’s own core,
a rhythm fierce, eternal, unbroken.
I was born for this inferno—
to live for the moment your fire erupts,
painting the horizon in crimson light,
a symphony of chaos and creation.
And when the storm exhales its final breath,
I will gather you in arms like shelter,
kiss away the ghosts of pain,
whisper forgiveness into every scar,
and tell you that you are the greatest gift
this world has ever given me.
I will hold you through the quiet afterglow,
sing to you the truth they never saw:
Your fire is not a burden,
but a blessing—
and I was made to love
the volcano in your soul.