In the cradle of twilight, softly the brimming cup spills,
luminescence breathes through the pearlescent winds,
rivers beneath a crescent wave,
drifting suspended in a labyrinth of stars.
Those who weave veiled whispers,
are the dreamers dancing within silver-lit casts,
while clocks murmur silent tales,
of sonnets gone unheard in cotton-galaxy’s embrace.