In the whispering maze where the moon sighs,
Clocks wear roses on their dancing hands,
And the stars, they bleed echoes of unheard poetry.
An apple, fallen from the sky's embrace,
Dreams of becoming a tulip of fire.
O! How the heart writes its algebra on tear-stained pages,
Soliloquies of silence wrapped tenderly
In the armor of paradox and feigned sanity,
For love, real as the mirage of yesterday,
Builds castles on the clouds' swollen delight.
Let us revel in the absurdity of a love that defies time — a demanding scream in soft whispers. The ink of our discordant symphony staining pages unwritten, where each note is a heartbeat, each silence an eternity of tender longing.
Here lies a visionary hairpin turn of existential grace, where laughter and despair dance in a dance hall of cosmic curiosity.