"Do you remember the colors of dreams?" she asked, with eyes like the deepest cosmos.
"Perhaps they sing," he replied, "but only when the stars are hiding."

"I found a book that speaks in shadows," she murmured, tracing lines in the air.
"What language do the shadows speak?" he wondered, leaning closer to the silence.

"In gardens of whispered truths," she began, "the flowers do not bloom but echo."
"What truth do they echo?" he questioned, as the wind carried away their voices.

"Beneath the sand lies time itself," she said, "sleeping with the dreams of oceans."
"Has it ever woken?" he asked, and their words melted into the twilight.