Shadowy Quatrains

In the dim-lit corridors of a phantasmal realm,
where cogs of affection spin with a shadowy helm,
whispers of wanderers weave through the night,
their dreams a cascade, reflected in moonlight.

Clockwork hearts beat in sync with the stars,
forging connections through invisible bars.
Oh, the quatrains they sing, in tones muted yet clear,
echoing love's timeless dance, in the silence we hear.

Palms of brass touch the velvet of skies,
painting horizons with clockwork sighs.
In this world of dreams, where phantoms reside,
passion's gentle echo is the gear's wistful guide.

Beyond the thresholds of this rhythmic embrace,
the heart's clock ticks on, a slow, tender pace.
A landscape of shadows, where whispers convene,
forever entwined in the wistful machine.