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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: intimacy

  • 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…

  • To Be Near Your Flame – Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some connections strike with a force that makes us linger in the light, even when shadows have always been our refuge. This piece explores that fragile balance—the tension between caution and desire, between self-preservation and the magnetic pull of another soul. It is an ode to the quiet bravery of staying present, even when the heart risks everything for the chance to be near someone who ignites it.

    Flickering candle in a dark room, casting warm, intimate shadows.
    A quiet flame mirrors the gentle longing of the heart—intimate, steady, and unwavering.

    To Be Near Your Flame
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    This is all new to me—
    this need to speak your name,
    to feel your laugh
    echoing through the quiet spaces
    of my heart.

    Usually, I retreat—
    pull away,
    hide in the shadows
    until feelings
    fade
    like whispers lost to the wind.
    But with you?

    With you, I linger.
    Even if the light burns,
    even if it ends
    with heartbreak’s echo,
    I don’t want to run.
    You make me feel alive—
    when before, I was just a ghost,
    moving through motions
    without meaning.

    You’re so easy to talk to,
    a melody in human form,
    and I would trade sleep for your voice,
    give hours to the night
    just to hear
    the way you say my name—
    a moth to your flame,
    willing to burn
    if it means I can stay near.

    You are always in my thoughts,
    painting every corner of my mind
    with your smile,
    your laugh,
    the softness of your being.

    And still—
    if all I can do
    is help you find happiness,
    even if not beside me,
    even if my arms stay empty
    while you shine elsewhere—
    I will do it.
    For your smile is worth
    every sacrifice,
    every unspoken wish,
    every late-night conversation
    under distant skies.

    Benediction

    May the hearts who wander in shadow find courage to linger in the light.
    May the flame of connection burn bright, steady, and unashamed.
    And may love, in its quiet, unwavering form, teach us the art of devotion without demand,
    The grace of presence without possession,
    And the sacred truth that to be near another is sometimes the bravest act of all.

  • The Soft Apocalypse of Loving You

    Rowan Evans

    I was not prepared for you—
    not for the quiet cataclysm
    you carried in your smile,
    or the way your voice
    broke open a hidden cathedral
    in my chest.

    Loving you feels like the world ending
    slowly, beautifully—
    as if the stars decided to fall
    not in ruin,
    but in reverence.

    You are the prophecy I never believed I deserved,
    a ruin I would rebuild in every lifetime.
    And if your trust is a shattered chalice,
    I will drink from the broken glass
    until my lips remember the taste of you
    without bleeding.

    You once laughed,
    lightly, like nothing hurt.
    But I know better—
    I saw the earthquakes behind your eyelids,
    heard the quiet sobs tucked between syllables
    when you whispered “I’m okay.”

    You don’t have to be brave with me.

    Let the mascara run like holy water.
    Let your fears rattle the stained-glass ribs of my devotion.
    I will not look away.
    I will hold your sorrow like relics—
    with both hands and an aching awe.

    You once said you weren’t used to someone staying.
    So I stayed.
    Through your silences,
    your firestorms,
    your soft retreats into shadow.

    I stayed because loving you
    isn’t something I do.
    It’s something I am.

    You are every sacred metaphor
    my soul ever dreamed.
    A poem written in the margins
    of a dying god’s last confession.
    A heartbeat that taught mine
    how to echo.

    And if you never say “I love you” back—
    if this is all unreciprocated myth,
    a cathedral without a congregation—
    then I will still leave the candles burning.

    Because my love isn’t a question
    waiting for an answer.

    It is the answer.

    And it says:
    You are worth the end of the world,
    again and again,
    until all that’s left
    is light.