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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: intimacy

  • Distant Shores | A Poem About Longing, Growth, and Becoming

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem came from a recurring dream and a familiar pull — the quiet urge to move toward something that feels meaningful, even if the destination isn’t fully defined yet. It isn’t about a place so much as the feeling of possibility, of momentum returning, of wanting to grow into someone worthy of the journey ahead.

    Some shores are literal.
    Some are emotional.
    Some only exist because someone made you believe they might.

    — Rowan Evans

    A solitary figure standing on a quiet shoreline at dawn, looking out toward distant waves and a glowing horizon.
    Some journeys begin long before you ever leave—when the shore starts calling you back to yourself.

    Distant Shores
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    It’s kind of wild how,
    you’ve been in my dreams
    for a while now.

    You’re always radiant as ever,
    you look like heaven—but better.
    You inspire every poem, word and letter,
    I write them with love, respect and care.
    If I could, I would always be there—

    I swear
    I will cross oceans,
    whether I catch a jet,
    swim or stowaway.
    I swear
    I will cross these waves,
    and we will walk the same shore
    some day.
    I swear—

    You make me, want to be
    a better me.
    To strive for more,
    instead of giving up
    like I had before.
    I had allowed myself
    to become trapped,
    inside the borders
    of my mind and
    country.

    You added fuel to a fire
    that had been silently burning.
    Right there, inside my chest.
    The embers smoldered in silence,
    until you, and the fire reignited—
    and now it roars.

    Once again, I dream of walking
    distant shores. But now…
    Now, I want them to be…

    Yours.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

    Journey into the Hexverse

    [Toward Somewhere I Can Breathe]
    A poem about feeling disconnected since fourteen, longing for somewhere that feels like home, and finally understanding that the journey isn’t about escape — it’s about alignment.

    [Disconnected Since Fourteen]
    A confessional poem about growing up disconnected—from place, from home, from belonging—and the quiet realization that the signal was never stable to begin with.

    [Still Tilting Elsewhere]
    A reflection on growing up with a compass that never pointed home—tracing the quiet rebellion of longing, the patience of dreams, and the feeling of always being angled toward somewhere else.

  • Moth — A Poem About Cyclical Attraction and Desire

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is about attraction as a cycle —
    how some things draw us back, even when we know the cost.
    The ending is the beginning.

    A moth hovering near a candle flame in the dark, symbolizing cyclical attraction and desire.
    The ending is the beginning.

    Moth
    Poetry by HxNightshade

    drawn to your flame.
    Burn me up
    with your love—
    watch me ascend,
    begin again.

    It’s a loop—
    time twisting in
    on itself.
    I feel like I’ve
    lived this before.

    I’m just a moth…

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • My Heart, Population: You – A Poem About Tender Devotion

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This poem was written in February of last year, during an earlier incarnation of a project that has since transformed into something entirely different. It comes from a gentler season of longing—one where love felt less like fire and more like shelter.

    I’m sharing it now not because it fits where I am, but because it still tells the truth of who I’ve been: someone who loves in open doors and soft permanence, someone who believes devotion can be tender.

    Some poems don’t belong to the book they were born for.
    They belong to the timeline of the heart instead.

    Illustration of a heart-shaped city glowing at dusk, symbolizing love, home, and gentle devotion.
    A heart that became a home.

    My Heart, Population: You
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You wandered in, no map, no key,
    Yet claimed this land inside of me.
    No walls were built, no toll to pay,
    Just open roads that beg you to stay.

    Your name’s engraved on every street,
    A love so vast, so pure, so sweet.

    Like ivy vines, you took your place,
    Wrapped every brick in your embrace.
    A cityscape of dreams anew,
    Each heartbeat whispering of you.

    No lease, no debt, no price to weigh,
    Yet still, I’d pay in love each day.

    A sunlit park where laughter rings,
    A chapel where devotion sings.
    My heart, once vacant, cold, askew—
    Now thrives with life, population: You.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Every Thought Between – A Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    Sometimes, the mind cannot stop wandering to the one who lingers in your heart. This little reflection captures that quiet, unending presence—the person who inhabits every corner of thought, even in silence.

    — Rowan Evans

    Abstract golden light and blurred shapes representing quiet reflection and lingering thoughts.
    Every thought between—where silence still carries your presence.

    Every Thought Between
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    There is not a moment
    that you do not
    cross my mind.
    You are my first thought,
    and my last—
    and every thought between.

    Even silence
    sounds like you.

    If you’re interested in more poetry, you can find it here → [The Library of Ashes]

  • Every Word I Mean — A Vulnerable Confessional Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Every Word I Mean is one of the most vulnerable things I’ve written in a while—not because it hides behind metaphor, but because it refuses to.
    I’m used to expressing the deepest truths in symbols, shadows, and lyrical disguises. But this time, I wanted to speak plainly. To show what it looks like when I mean something so much that I don’t need to dress it in poetry.

    Every line in this piece is something I’ve said in real life—honestly, openly, without hesitation. These aren’t metaphors or masks; they’re just my truth. And putting that truth into ink feels almost more intimate than any confession I’ve written before.

    This is me without armor.
    Just words I meant, and still mean.

    — Rowan Evans

    A warm, softly lit page with handwritten lines and a fountain pen resting beside it, symbolizing intimate and honest writing.
    A quiet moment of truth poured into ink — every word written with intention.

    Every Word I Mean
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    If I speak it,
    in words or ink,
    then know I mean it.

    Because I don’t say things
    just to say them—
    I only say them
    when I feel them.

    Like—
    I love
    your smile,
    your laugh,
    your nose.
    (It’s cute, really.)
    I think you’re beautiful,
    and I’m not going anywhere.
    I’m never going to leave.
    I want to build a real foundation.
    Show you the love and respect
    you deserve.

    With me,
    I always want you
    to feel safe and heard.

    These are all things I’ve said—
    not hidden in poems,
    not wrapped in metaphors.
    I said them plainly,
    straightforward,
    unshaken.

    And maybe that’s why
    I write it now—
    not to hide the truth,
    but to honor it.

    To show you that
    even my simplest words
    carry weight,
    carry intention,
    carry you.

    Because when I say anything—
    whether in ink
    or breath—
    it’s because I feel it:
    every syllable,
    every moment,
    every piece of you
    that I’ve come to love.

    Suggested Reads

    [Over and Over]
    A vulnerable, deeply honest poem about choosing someone again and again—despite distance, fear, and the chaos between two very different worlds. Over and Over captures that wild gravity between two people who weren’t meant to collide… yet somehow did.

    [The Power You Give Me]
    A poem about sacred intimacy, quiet devotion, and the kind of connection that feels like sorcery without spells. The Power You Give Me explores how trust, desire, and vulnerability turn touch into magic—and why real power is held by the person who lets you close.

    [Carved From Intention]
    A poem about the quiet, deliberate way I love—and the frustration of being misunderstood. Not all affection is loud or scattered; some of us give ourselves slowly, carefully, and only with intention.

    Looking for even more poetry?
    You can explore everything in The Library of Ashes.

  • The Power You Give Me — A Neo‑Gothic Confessional Love Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This piece is me speaking to the one I care for, and to anyone who has ever let themselves be seen fully by another. There’s no illusion here—no tricks, no smoke, no mirrors. The “magic” I write about is the kind that happens when trust meets attention, when care meets desire, when devotion meets surrender. It’s messy, it’s quiet, it’s real. I wrote this to honor that kind of connection—the one that burns steady, that makes even the smallest moments feel sacred, and that reminds me why we give ourselves to the people we love.

    Silhouetted lovers in candlelight with soft, magical light swirling between their hands, evoking intimacy and quiet devotion.
    Intimacy becomes its own kind of magic.

    The Power You Give Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m a magician, love—
    sleight of hand in every touch,
    danger in every whisper.
    Not the kind that pulls rabbits from hats,
    but the kind that pulls want
    from the deepest parts of you
    without even trying.

    I touch you once—
    and your breath forgets itself.
    Twice—
    and your pulse starts writing poetry
    against your skin.

    I speak a single word
    and your knees remember
    what surrender feels like.
    My tongue is a wand,
    a spellcaster,
    a maker of quiet ruins—
    and I use it
    only on the deserving.

    I can summon heat
    with the drag of a fingertip,
    pull desire from the air
    like it’s silk waiting to be woven.
    I draw circles on your skin
    and watch them ignite,
    slow, deliberate,
    like I planned the fire
    from the very beginning.

    And when I say your name—
    soft, low,
    with that tone that hits you
    right behind the ribs—
    you’ll swear I enchanted you.
    But it’s simpler than that.
    No potions, no charms, no lies.

    You react to me
    because your body knows mine
    before your mind catches up.
    Because my magic isn’t tricks—
    it’s instinct,
    connection,
    hunger braided with reverence.

    And darling—
    when I’m finished with you,
    when you’re breathless and undone,
    when the world goes quiet
    except for the echo of my touch—

    you’ll realize
    I never cast spells at all.
    I just showed you
    the power you give me
    when you let me close.

    Because loving you—
    that’s the real magic.
    The kind that doesn’t spark
    or shimmer,
    but settles low and warm
    right behind the heart,
    glowing steady
    like a lantern in a storm.

    You don’t see it,
    but every time you trust me,
    every time you soften,
    every time you let me
    see the part of you
    you hide from the world—
    I feel something inside me
    kneel.

    Not out of worship,
    but out of awe.
    Out of the quiet truth
    that your soul
    is the most beautiful thing
    I’ve ever been allowed to touch.

    And if my hands
    feel like sorcery,
    if my voice
    feels like a spell,
    it’s only because
    you turn even the smallest moment
    into something sacred
    just by being in it.

    So yes—
    I’ll whisper enchantments
    against your skin,
    trace constellations
    on your pulse points,
    pull storms and light and heat
    from the spaces between us—
    but that’s not power.

    That’s devotion.
    That’s choosing you
    with every breath.
    That’s giving you
    the softest parts of me
    and letting you hold them
    like something holy.

    And if that feels like magic—
    then maybe it is.
    But it’s yours.
    It always has been.

    Looking for more poetry? You can find it all in the Library of Ashes.

  • The Smallest Prayer – A Minimalist Poem on Connection by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This is a quiet invocation of connection and hope—a brief, intimate reflection on the beauty of shared moments, even in their smallest form. Sometimes the smallest words carry the deepest meaning.

    Two hands reaching toward each other in a soft, glowing twilight, representing connection and intimacy.
    Even the smallest gestures hold profound meaning.

    The Smallest Prayer
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Thoughts.
    Dreams.

    You and I—

    Us.

    Together.

    Reaching.
    Seeing.

    To read more of my work, find it here: [The Library of Ashes]

  • Sonnet of Submission – A Neo-Gothic Confessional Romantic Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Introduction

    Sonnet of Submission is a tender exploration of trust, surrender, and sacred intimacy. Written in late October 2024, this piece captures the quiet strength found in yielding and the beauty of finding refuge in love.

    Twilight forest with soft light breaking through shadows, a glowing lantern casting ethereal warmth in a romantic, gothic setting.
    A lantern of love guiding the heart through shadows.

    Sonnet of Submission
    Poetry by Rowan Evans
    (Written October 29th, 2024)

    In twilight’s glow, where shadows softly play,
    I yield my heart, my mind, my very soul,
    To thee, whose touch can chase the night away,
    In your embrace, I find my truest whole.

    With every whispered word, my doubts unwind,
    In tender moments, trust begins to bloom,
    Your love, a lantern, guiding me to find
    A sacred space, where darkness meets its doom.

    I grant you all—my fears, my dreams, my grace,
    In yielding, I discover strength anew;
    For in this bond, I find my rightful place,
    With you, I’m anchored, safe in love so true.

    So take my heart, my spirit, let us soar,
    In sweet submission, I am yours, evermore.

    If you liked this piece, check out more of my work in [The Library of Ashes]!

  • I Love You (Enough to Learn You) – Vow III: Understanding | Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    The Vows began as an exploration of devotion — not the romanticized kind, but the kind forged in ache, honesty, and reverence.

    Vow I was surrender: letting the ink run dry, allowing love to unmake what was hardened.
    Vow II was endurance: the willingness to break, to bear the bruise and still remain.
    And Vow III — this final vow — is understanding: the quiet promise to listen, to learn, and to love without translation.

    Together, they form a trinity of intimacy — the heart’s slow evolution from sacrifice to fluency, from bleeding to belonging.

    This isn’t a story of martyrdom. It’s a story of witnessing: of meeting someone’s soul and saying, I see you, I’ll learn you, I’ll speak your language.
    That is the purest vow I know.

    — Rowan Evans

    “Two hands nearly touching through candlelight over scattered handwritten vows and ink-stained pages — symbolizing understanding and emotional intimacy.”
    “The final vow — not of silence or breaking, but of becoming fluent in another’s heart.” — Rowan Evans

    I Love You (Enough to Learn You)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’d let the ink run dry,
    then I’d break willingly.
    That was vow one,
    and vow two.
    This is vow three—for you.

    I love you enough
    to put you first—
    to make you a priority
    in my life.
    Everyone else be damned,
    I will—

    learn your language,
    learn the nuance,
    so you can speak freely,
    say exactly what you need.

    I will learn the cadence of your world,
    so I can understand—
    not to change you,
    but to meet you where you are.

    I love you enough to listen
    when words falter,
    to read what your silence says
    when your voice can’t.

    I’ll make a home in your pauses,
    a temple in your sighs.
    You gave me peace—
    so I’ll give you peace of mind.

    I’ll give you understanding—
    that’s vow three.
    Not of silence,
    not of breaking,
    but of becoming fluent
    in your heart.

    The Silent Vows

    [I Love You (Enough to Go Silent)]
    A vow written in ink and silence — a confession of love so deep it would sacrifice its own voice to spare another’s tears. “I Love You (Enough to Go Silent)” is a Neo-Gothic devotion from Rowan Evans, where the act of not speaking becomes the loudest declaration of love.

    [I Love You (Enough to Break Willingly)]
    A vow whispered in ink and ache — love not as surrender, but as shared endurance. “I Love You (Enough to Break Willingly)” is Rowan Evans’ second vow, a quiet confession of devotion that chooses breaking over leaving, and burden over indifference.

  • Kintsugi Our Souls Together | Love Poem for the Ruined, the Rising, the Reverent

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    This is for the broken and the rising. For the ones who have loved through scars, and shone through shadow. Kintsugi Our Souls Together is a love letter to the beauty in brokenness—and the gold that binds us when we choose to mend, together.

    Illustration of two broken figures repaired with gold veins, floating among stars, representing cosmic love and healing.
    Kintsugi souls: rising holy from the fractures of our past.

    Kintsugi Our Souls Together
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    You say you’re broken.
    Baby—me too.
    Not just cracked,
    but scattered like constellations
    ripped from the sky,
    fragments of light
    drenched in shadow.

    We are star-born ruins—
    cosmic,
    bruised,
    beautiful in our wreckage.
    Galaxies of grief
    swirl behind our eyes,
    but still—
    baby, we shine.

    So let’s gather the remnants,
    each jagged edge,
    each silent scream.
    Let’s stitch our scars
    with molten gold,
    Kintsugi our souls
    until pain becomes pattern,
    and every fracture
    sings with sacred heat.

    I want to know your ache—
    wear it like velvet on my skin,
    learn the shape of your sorrow
    until it fits inside my ribcage.
    We’ll build a throne from bones
    of yesterday’s despair,
    a palace of ash and stars,
    lit by the heavens
    that watched us burn.

    No crowns needed.

    Just you and me—
    flawed,
    fierce,
    whole in our brokenness.
    Treasures made
    from what the world discarded.
    Proof that ruin
    can still rise—
    holy.

    So let the world call us ruins—
    Let them say we should’ve shattered.
    They don’t see the gold in our veins,
    the way we gleam—
    Kintsugi souls…
    even in the dark.

    Visit The Library of Ashes to find more of my work…