Degrees of Departure

Cicadas' Lament: In uneven sunrays, amongst creaking timbers, a cicada calls, unsatisfied with whispers undone. Could you ever hear, the dreams lodged in its shriek?
Secret's Antibiotic: Binding not with unwavering hands, but between knowing glances found in dappled light, secrets breathe like shifting currents.
Pale Ink Lines: Carved as ambers slowly sigh from the dark, pale ink traces chart the lost rivulets of thoughts pranced upon paper.

The clock oscillates like a pendulum sway too far, reconciled only in the blurry soft-focus 세계 of minds unspoken yet entwined.