Mann tended gardens, each petal her name, a poetry of care that sang through time, a hymn that echoed in her heart. "Cassette, my starfire's vow," he sang, "your warmth is my spring, your love my sky, my soul's unending song." The whispers of her love reached him, making him smile, feeling her presence in every breeze, every light filtering through the leaves, a poetry that burned through the miles. "Cassette, my moon's own hymn," he whispered, "your hugs are my haven, your kisses my stars, my heart's eternal bloom."
In dreams, he embraced her, brushing a kiss on her brow-each touch a vow reshaped. "Cassette, my tide's own pulse," he murmured, "your love is a river flowing through my heart, eternal, radiant, true." She smiled, with arms as his haven, and whispered, "My Mann, my shore of light, your hugs are my dawn, my heart's forever bloom, my soul's eternal spring." Their love was a flame softly burning, the light of a poetry of care, the warmth of a vow that sang of forever, the canvas of devotions that gently rocked their souls in truth.