In the quiet heart of cerulean midnight
the whispers barely touch the tide
where rhombuses drawn in sand
twirl endlessly beneath stars кечы.
Angular embraces speak in silent tongues,
molding silhouettes into silhouettes,
a choreography by salt and moonlight,
pirouetting softly over love lost and found, once more.
Tidal scripts weaving the eternal, elusive
In every facet of fate, dread, dreams,—
Read between the current's breath
For therein lies the scripted passion.