Tasha, My Regal Black

She moves like midnight
learning to breathe again,
each step a hush,
each glance a decree.

Her fur drinks the light
and gives it back as calm,
a velvet kingdom
where silence reigns.

No crown could hold her,
no throne could teach her grace;
she was born knowing
how stillness commands.

When she sits beside me,
the air remembers its purpose,
to listen,
to soften,
to serve.

And in her gaze,
I see the long corridors of time
fold into one moment,
a queen resting,
content with her realm.