Drift, the cosmic whisper, astray in silken galaxies,
inked on a parchment woven of lightyears and forgotten echoes.
Through the telescope of dreams, do you see?
Constellated thoughts in the margin of your slumber.
A symphony, celestial, woven by the harps of nebulae,
playing in the overture of time, wrapping eternity in a sigh.
Voyage across the dark ether, where time loses its hold,
and the messages of starlight are but a breath upon your skin.
The space between spaces cradles our aspirations, entwined
in the spirals of galaxies, in the eyes of a midnight dream.
song_of_solaris