The fog harbors whispers of stars unseen, holding tight secrets spun from the web of night.
The moon, timid yet omnipotent, graces us with her spectral perfume.
Our sails are filled with dreams broken, patched together with silver threads of the flickering cosmos.
As we drift upon the whispers of silvery currents, the stars bleed the hues of distant kisses upon my skin. Angeline’s voice trails within the fog, resembling a melody sung by Sirens. I chart her laughter alongside Orion’s Belt; it shimmers, dances, unwavering. Our course enigmatic, guided by spectral figures both upon sea and in embered sky.
Emerged spectral outlines of doves perched upon cerulean waves, navigating through old compasses skewing northward. Beneath these logs lies an unseen depth, where mermaids smile wistfully; their tales linger beyond horizons, surreal shadows of times unknown.