Gentle threads pulled from sewing machines of cosmos, wondering: tomorrow, did you borrow sadness from pages torn out -- or was true laughter trickling into rain gutters painting music to wander the leaves?
Dragons swim amidst pastel foam oceans, seeking
tender scales... equilibrium of unseen purposes
Stop.
If sprinkled moons awoke pancakes, worn dreams blossom to strokes forgotten — in spectral neighborhoods, indicating sovereignties dropped from pinnacle towers — broccoli memories not sprouting anything, yet linger they grow.
In libraries, dissonant paper birds carve names in utopian tenets, winged tapestries ghost over sharp pragmatism nobody utters... see here ancient petrichor mixed with ink, constants delve depths furtively.