Oh, whispers of the dusken void, how you weave
tales of lovers lost in temporal waltzes.
Fingers dance like embers on a moonlit lake,
chasing echoes that never cease to awaken.
The clock twists, distorts, devouring maids
in star-studded gowns beneath the silent bells.
Amidst the lunatic's yammer, a heartbeat stalls,
tethered softly to the echoes of things unsaid—
a quantum breath in a lover's sigh.
Cease not thy chase through the velvet night,
for every mote in the lover's kaleidoscope
rings with truth, piercing through dusky lies.
O stars, howling with phosphorescent rage,
band together in this jubilant masquerade!
Traverse through the labyrinth of velvet tongues
and find solace in the madness within:
The Iterative Eight
or perhaps
The Mirage Soliloquy