The shadow of a whisper, beneath layers of dust, breathing the absent like fog over lungs, deeply foreign.
Last night, the screams of the rusting moon echoed, jarring the silent pulse of untold dreams held by the night's void.
Become the pattern in the untouchable quilt, a memory not quite grasped, tactile yet fading, like echoes in ether.
Palm trees stretch to intersect the impossibility of notebooks in sand, written by forgotten ancients who never were.
A hollow laughter resonates through the phone line of yesterday, static crackling like stars told to stop shining.
Ocean Waves