In the depths of my gaze, you cradle the blend of lemonade and lavender in your bare palms, just as you hold the universe's sunsets and sunrises in the unadorned pools of your naked eyes. The only divergence between us is but a whisper of fantasy and a hidden secret, a chasm bridged by fragrant melodies and wisps of cigarette smoke.

You are my undoing, the arsonist within my own lungs, the tempest, and I, the willing casualty. I combust from within, my lungs and heart aflame, fueled by the allure of your fragrance, reminiscent of vanilla body wash that kindles this improbable vitality within me—a bath for my senses, a cleanse of my mind and soul. Inebriated, I sink into a subtle intoxication whenever you draw near, like the evening succumbing into the horizon.

Hand me your lemonade chalice and the bouquet of lavender, and I shall transport you to the most serene of havens, where you may release your locks of copper to intertwine with my braided bones. And if my arms fail to provide the same intensity of warmth I find within your gaze, I shall ensure the stars above us burn as bright as your smile, and we'll waltz to the whispered secrets of the ancient willows and the melodies of the nightingales. Under this glowing night sky, maybe we'll realise time and tide did wait for us.

So let your fingertips meet my heart as we synchronise our pulses. In this interplay of the setting sun and our souls, you wash my fears with a touch more soothing than the gentle showers of June.