On moonlit terraces strewn with ivy's gentle embrace,
souls entwine beneath paths worn with whispers of past.
Here lies the kiss, once vibrant, now lost to shadows.

Morning light cascades through broken panes,
illuminating dust whirlpools in sensuous dance,
echoing the fading guile of forgotten smiles.

Crimson vines creeping, creeping, encircle
the widening gyre as Time tilts, spilling
lace across soft keys yet untouched.
Her voice remains, a hum spun out of echo hollow.

The shadows clutch the lattice we wove;
whispering winds dismantle desire—
each thread dissonant in this crumble of stars and earth.