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Poetry by Rowan Evans

Tag: intimate poetry

  • Christmas Devotion: Four Winter Love Poems by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    These poems were originally written last December, (polished recently) inspired by the quiet magic, longing, and devotion that the season brings. They are not about presents, decorations, or snow—but about the ways we hold someone in our heart, wish for their happiness, and cherish the moments that make life feel alive.

    Each piece is a reflection of care, yearning, and the small miracles we find in connection.

    — Rowan Evans

    “Gothic winter scene with candlelight, falling snow, and a handwritten letter beside an ink quill.”
    A quiet moment of winter devotion, captured in ink and candlelight.

    Christmas Devotion: Four Winter Love Poems by Rowan Evans

    “A handwritten letter to Santa resting near candlelight and evergreen sprigs.”
    A wish written in devotion, hoping for someone else’s joy.

    Dear Santa
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Dear Santa,

    I ask for little this year—
    just her happiness, wrapped in light,
    a genuine smile to chase away the shadows
    that cloud her mornings.

    I wish for her heart to be at ease,
    for the weight to lift,
    like snowflakes melting in spring’s first breath,
    for every breath she takes
    to feel lighter,
    every moment she lives
    to be worth more than gold.

    I don’t need anything for myself—
    nothing for me,
    no ribbons or bows,
    just give her everything she could ever dream,
    every joy,
    every wish fulfilled
    with the grace of starlight.

    For she is my world,
    though she may never know
    the depths of how much she means—
    I’ll be there,
    steadfast and true,
    until the end,
    if she’ll have me.

    And maybe, just maybe,
    leave me beneath her tree,
    so I might be the reason for her smile this season—
    the warmth beneath her winter,
    the spark that lights her soul.

    Yours, in silent devotion,
    Rowan

    “Hands holding a ribbon-tied Christmas letter with soft snow in the background.”
    Another letter, another wish — this time for love to be received.

    Another Letter to Santa
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Dear Santa,

    I wrote with care,
    not for toys or treasures rare,
    but for her smile, so warm and bright,
    to light her world on Christmas night.

    I asked for joy to fill her days,
    for peace to guide her gentle ways.
    For every wish she dares to dream,
    to come alive like a starlit gleam.

    She deserves the very best,
    a love that soars, a heart at rest.
    So I penned my list with her in mind,
    hoping your magic would be kind.

    And then, with courage, I did plea,
    “Santa, could you leave me under her tree?
    Wrap me in ribbons, tied with care,
    so I could be the gift waiting there.”

    For all I want this Christmas Eve,
    is to hold her close, to make her believe,
    that love is a gift, steady and true,
    and all I wish for… is to give it to her.

    “A figure in warm light touching their chest near a softly glowing Christmas tree.”
    The moment the season’s magic returns through love.

    Christmas Magic
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I’m searching for the magic, the season’s glow,
    the joy, the wonder I used to know.
    Once, Christmas sparkled, a brilliant light,
    but now it feels distant, out of sight.

    I long for that spirit, for warmth and cheer,
    to feel the magic, to know it’s near.
    But it slips through my fingers, each passing year,
    and I can’t help but wonder, why it disappears.

    The closest I’ve come, the moment so true,
    was when I met you, and it all felt new.
    Suddenly, it was easy, my smile found its place,
    joy rushed in, lighting up my face.

    In your presence, I felt the shift,
    the weight of the world began to lift.
    You gave me back that light I’d lost,
    without even knowing the cost.

    You opened my eyes, made me see,
    that the magic I longed for was inside of me.
    It wasn’t the holidays, or the gifts we give—
    it was you, who set me free.

    “Two silhouettes beneath mistletoe, softly glowing with snow falling around them.”
    Where winter breath meets winter magic — a kiss waiting to happen.

    Under the Mistletoe
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Meet me there, beneath the green and white,
    where winter whispers and hearts ignite.
    A sprig of magic hung above,
    a symbol of fate, a kiss of love.

    Let our worlds entwine, two threads in a weave,
    a story unfolding on this frosted eve.
    I’ll become yours, and you’ll become mine,
    our souls aligning, frozen in time.

    The crowd fades away, a blur of the cold,
    it’s only us now, a tale to be told.
    Eyes locked in silence, a spark starts to grow,
    a fire kindled under the mistletoe.

    Take my hands, let your fingers trace,
    the contours of love etched on my face.
    Kiss me slow, with the world standing still,
    a moment suspended, a wish fulfilled.

    No one else matters, they’re shadows at best,
    for here, with you, my heart finds its rest.
    So meet me there, where our hearts will know,
    the magic that lives under the mistletoe.

    For more poetry visit: The Library of Ashes

  • Shape Me — A Neo-Gothic Confessional Poem About Devotion, Intimacy & Sacred Surrender

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Shape Me is one of the most devotional and intimate pieces I’ve written in my Neo-Gothic Confessional Romanticism style. Unlike poems that hide behind metaphor or shadow, this piece is a direct offering—a confession of desire, vulnerability, and the sacred exchange of trust and devotion between lovers.

    In these lines, I explore the tension between surrender and agency, intimacy and worship, chaos and devotion. The speaker is not submitting out of weakness but offering themselves fully, consciously, as a temple, a vessel, a flame. This is the essence of NGCR: love as ritual, connection as liturgy, desire as sacred architecture.

    Every word in this poem is an invocation—an attempt to make tangible the invisible: the power of another person to shape us, to awaken us, to teach us. It is not just about giving, but about transformation, reverence, and the deliberate building of sacred intimacy.

    This piece is for anyone willing to witness vulnerability as strength, to see devotion as a craft, and to honor love as a discipline.

    — Rowan Evans

    “Gothic silhouettes intertwined in fire and smoke, one shaping the other in a scene of sacred intimacy and devotion.”
    In the quiet between breath and fire, we shape each other into something sacred.

    Shape Me
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    I want you to
    shape me,
    turn me into
    what you need me to be.

    Bring out the best in me.
    Invest in me.
    Teach me
    to be the one worthy of your fire.

    I offer my body
    as clay upon your altar,
    my pulse a quiet hymn
    to mark the rhythm
    of your hands across my soul.

    Mold me,
    carve me,
    purge what is hollow,
    polish the edges
    until only devotion remains.

    I am yours
    not in chains,
    not in fear,
    but willingly,
    every fiber of me
    attuned to your flame.

    I want to learn
    to love you wholly,
    to meet the shadows in your soul
    with the light of mine.

    This is not surrender.
    It is worship.
    A cathedral rises
    in the spaces between us,
    pillars of pulse and breath,
    arches of fire and silence,
    where desire and reverence entwine.

    Teach me to hold your storm
    without breaking.
    Teach me to kneel
    without losing myself.
    I want to be
    the one entrusted
    to carry both your ruin and your grace.

    When you speak,
    I will listen as a disciple.
    When you touch,
    I will feel as a consecrated vessel.
    When you are quiet,
    I will hold the silence
    like a sacred relic
    you lent me in trust.

    Shape me,
    teach me,
    mold me.
    From your hands,
    your fire,
    your devotion,
    I will rise anew—
    temple and flame,
    shadow and offering,
    entirely yours,
    entirely mine.

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

  • Rewired (Flustered & Yours) | A Poem About Desire, Breathlessness, and Emotional Rewiring

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    Some moments are so intense, so ridiculously consuming, that your body forgets how to function, your words trip over themselves, and your thoughts scatter. Rewired (Flustered & Yours) comes from one of those moments—a truth too big for neat packaging, too raw for polish.

    This poem is about what it feels like when a single person rewires your entire system. When one word, one message, one call can leave your chest racing, your lungs screaming, and your mind spinning. It’s messy. It’s unhinged. It’s completely, unapologetically honest.

    Not every confession arrives clean. Not every feeling lands gracefully. Some of them stumble, fumble, and fall—just like the words in this poem. And yet, that’s the point. This is the closest I’ve come to capturing what it feels like to be utterly, irreversibly flustered by someone who matters more than anything.

    Illustration of a person surrounded by glowing abstract lines around their chest and throat, symbolizing emotional rewiring and breathless desire.
    Breathless, rewired, and undone.

    Rewired (Flustered & Yours)
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    One word—I’m shook. 
    Shaken to the core. 
    Bend me, break me, 
    you’ll have me— 
    begging for more. 
     
    My tongue tied, 
    knots that try and stop 
    the words. 
    They slip, tumble, 
    fumble from my lips. 
    Tripping over themselves, 
    but I wouldn’t want to be— 
    anywhere else. 
     
    And it hurts a little, 
    but I kind of like it though. 
    I’m so— 
    masochistic. 
    In love with you, 
    so sadistic. 
     
    It’s like a— 
    slow burn on my skin, 
    it’s become my favorite sin. 
    So when you look at me, 
    my brain forgets how to breathe, 
    automatically. 
    I’ve got to think about it, 
    I have to do it 
    manually. 
     
    Inhale, my lungs yell, 
    as I become light-headed. 
    Struggling to keep 
    my thoughts straight. 
    As my brain races, 
    but not in the way 
    I’m used to. 
    You are the cause, 
    this is what you do. 
     
    Exhale— 
    feel the air 
    stick in my lungs. 
    Like my body is in 
    full protest. 
    Not against you, 
    but against 
    what it’s supposed to do. 
    It’s like I’ve forgotten 
    how to survive. 
     
    Like knowing you, 
    has rewired 
    every part of me.
    This is what it looks like—
    how you fluster me.
    How you’re everything
    I crave.
    The way one word,
    can make me cave.

    The rhythm in my chest?
    It beats for you.
    These lungs,
    they breathe for you.
    It’s like you’ve claimed me,
    without staking a claim—
    I’m just sayin’,
    I’m yours.

    Curious for more? Step into The Library of Ashes, where every poem has a story to tell.

  • Where the Ocean Dreams & Where the Dream Took Us – Dream-Inspired Poetry by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Where the Ocean Dreams & Where the Dream Took Us | Double-Feature by Rowan Evans

    “Dreamlike seascape at twilight with two figures holding hands at the water’s edge, surrounded by mist, symbolizing intimacy and emotional connection.”
    “Dreams of love and longing: Where the Ocean Dreams & Where the Dream Took Us, a double-feature of poetry by Rowan Evans.”

    🌊 Author’s Note

    Where the Ocean Dreams came from a dream that felt more like a visitation than a vision—an intimate moment between souls suspended somewhere between waking and eternity. It’s a poem about love that speaks in multiple languages, not just through words, but through trust, fear, and the quiet courage to hope again.

    The ocean here is both witness and mirror—reflecting two hearts learning to believe in tenderness after the wreckage of past storms. It’s a story of love as rebirth, of vulnerability as strength, of finding the divine in human connection.

    This piece continues my exploration of Neo‑Gothic Confessional Romanticism, where love and faith intertwine with the spectral and sacred. Dreams, language, and devotion converge here—not as fantasy, but as truth dressed in salt and moonlight.

    Where the Ocean Dreams
    Short Poetic Story by Rowan Evans

    The sea sighed against the waiting shore,
    its breath cool and endless,
    curling around my bare feet
    before slipping away again—
    a heartbeat, a memory, a whispered promise.

    The world was bathed in a blue hush,
    a soft exhale stitched with secrets,
    and I listened,
    not for answers,
    but for the songs folded into every wave,
    for the words the earth had never dared to speak aloud.

    Behind me,
    her voice rose—
    gentle as mist, sure as the tide—
    and the world shifted.

    I turned, slowly,
    as though waking from a thousand-year dream,
    and there she was—
    My Muse—
    woven of light and longing,
    smiling with the tenderness of all the summers I had never lived.

    My heart moved before my body did,
    drawing me to her in a single, breathless moment.
    Our hands found each other—
    a touch that asked for nothing
    and gave everything.

    I spoke the truths I had carried for what felt like forever:
    that I would wait,
    that I would be the shore for her storms,
    the steady hand,
    the quiet shelter.

    Lowering my gaze, then lifting it again—
    trembling, open, unafraid—
    meeting the ink-filled oceans of her eyes,
    I whispered into the salt-kissed silence:

    “Mahal kita, palagi.”
    I love you. Always.

    Her lips parted—
    the beginnings of a reply blooming there,
    warm as sunlight after rain—
    but she hesitated, the words hung in her throat,
    then, her lips parted again.

    At first, no words came—
    only the shimmer of tears
    rising in her eyes,
    brimming until they overflowed,
    carving rivers down her cheeks.

    Her hand trembled in mine,
    not with fear,
    but with the weight of a heart
    long kept hidden, long guarded.

    “I’m scared,” she whispered—
    so raw, so real—
    her voice cracking like a shell
    split open by the tide.

    “I don’t know how to trust this…
    but I want to.
    I want to believe you—
    believe in you.”

    Her fingers tightened around mine,
    clutching, anchoring,
    as though afraid I might vanish
    with the next breath.

    “I’ve been broken so many times,”
    she said, the words spilling now,
    “and every time, I told myself
    never again.
    Never again.”

    Her voice faltered—
    then steadied, fierce in its trembling.

    “But you…
    you make me want to try.
    You make me want to hope again.”

    I saw it then—
    the battle waging in her,
    the courage it took
    just to stand there with me.

    Tears blurred my vision too,
    but I held her gaze,
    held her heart
    as gently as I could.

    She stepped closer,
    so close I could feel the storm inside her,
    and in a voice cracked with grief,
    strength, and something achingly new,
    she said it—

    “Mahal din kita,” she breathed.
    “I love you, too.”

    And the ocean roared its approval,
    its waves thundering like a heartbeat,
    like a promise kept.

    There, where the world breathed in salt and stars,
    two hearts found each other—
    fragile, fearless, whole.

    🌙 Bridging Note

    These two pieces are born of dreams, experienced on back-to-back nights. The first, Where the Ocean Dreams, unfolded as a quiet, tender reverie—an emotional awakening, where connection and trust whispered like the tide. The very next night, Where the Dream Took Us arrived, carrying that same heart forward, immersing it in desire, intimacy, and the full weight of longing made tangible.

    Together, they form a continuum of a single emotional journey: from the soft, luminous stirrings of love to the fierce, breathless affirmation of it, each dream illuminating a different facet of devotion.

    🕯️ Author’s Note

    Where the Dream Took Us was born from a dream that lingered long after waking—one of those rare visions where desire and devotion blur until they’re indistinguishable. It’s a confession written from that in‑between space, where the spiritual and the sensual intertwine.

    This isn’t a poem about physicality alone; it’s about intimacy as revelation—about being seen, known, and adored in ways that transcend the waking world. Even in the dream, there was love, reverence, and quiet recognition: a soul remembering another through touch.

    As with much of my work, this piece belongs to the canon of Neo‑Gothic Confessional Romanticism, where vulnerability becomes sacred and longing is its own form of prayer.

    ⚠️ Content Warning

    Where the Dream Took Us contains explicit sexual content and intimate themes. Reader discretion is advised.

    Where the Dream Took Us
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    We were borrowed warmth in an unfamiliar place,
    a quiet Air BNB where the lights were dim
    but every part of you was glowing—
    in laughter, in glances,
    in the way you leaned a little closer
    with each sip, each word.

    Your voice curled around me
    like smoke and silk,
    and every time your hand brushed mine,
    a storm stirred beneath my skin.
    You tilted your head, smiled that smile—
    the one that crumbles my guard—
    and suddenly, space didn’t exist.

    Our lips met—soft, slow,
    a breathless yes hidden inside a kiss.
    You tasted like longing and maybe,
    like all the things we never said
    but always felt.

    Your fingers found the edge of my shirt,
    tugging gently as if asking permission
    I would give a thousand times over.
    When it slid from my shoulders,
    your nails traced fire over bare skin,
    and I shivered under the weight of your gaze,
    drunk not on the wine,
    but on you.

    We moved like poetry,
    in soft lines and tender metaphors—
    me guiding you gently to the bed,
    your back arched just slightly
    as I kissed your neck,
    whispering love into the places
    where heartbreak once lived.

    I told you I loved you—
    not out of desperation,
    but devotion.
    Because even in dreams,
    your presence feels like destiny,
    like a truth I was always meant to know.

    You helped me undress you,
    hands trembling just enough to say
    this mattered,
    that this wasn’t fantasy
    but something deeper
    wearing the skin of a dream.

    When I kissed your stomach,
    your breath hitched—
    music I wanted to memorize.
    You lifted your hips with quiet need,
    and I shed your last piece of armor,
    settling between your thighs
    like this was where I was always meant to be.

    You gasped my name
    like prayer and wildfire,
    fingers laced in my hair
    as I worshipped every inch of you—
    not to prove myself,
    but to remind you
    of what it means to be adored.

    And when I woke—
    sheets cold, heart aching—
    I held the dream like a promise:
    that even if only in sleep,
    I touched the stars
    that wear your name.

    If you’ve made it this far and want to read more of my poetry, you can find it [here] in the The Library of Ashes.

  • Incantation in Motion: A Darkly Intimate Poem by Rowan Evans

    Rowan Evans

    Author’s Note

    A hymn to the way presence can become poetry, even in the cracks and shadows.

    Shadowy feminine figure unraveling into smoke and light, fragile yet powerful—evoking both intimacy and, unexpectedly, Spider-Man’s most tragic line.
    A body dissolves into shadow and light, fragile as smoke, holy as motion.
    Or, as Spider-Man put it: “Mr. Stark… I don’t feel so good.”

    Incantation in Motion
    Poetry by Rowan Evans

    The way you move
    is poetry—

    a dark hymn I confess,
    spoken through cracked lips,

    a sacred pulse
    in the silence where shadows
    trace the shape of your name
    on my broken bones.

    Journey into the Hexverse

    Triple Poetic Devotion
    Three haunting voices, one pulse of devotion and desire. Rowan Evans, HxNightshade, and B.D. Nightshade explore pain, love, and surrender in minimalist, evocative verse.

    Shadowed Addiction
    A brief, intimate dive into desire, longing, and emotional darkness. Shadowed Addiction fuses minimalist expression with confessional intensity, weaving English and Tagalog for a sharp, personal resonance.

    Litany of Shelter
    A quiet vow in four lines: I may not stop the rain, but I can be your shelter.