Love, they say, is a fortress built high,But mine trembles like paper, held against sky,A frail origami boat, scarcely dry,Set loose on a tide I can't name, nor deny.No grand declarations carved deep in the stone,Just the pulse of a silence we've quietly known;A shared breath that warms where the chill wind has blown,A shelter of shadows, imperfectly sewn.It's the tremor that lingers when fingers untie,The unspoken harbour when storms multiply.Not a poem completed, but ink on the…