Beneath the densest night, our whispers formed
an orchestra of gravity-defying echoes —
they danced like free stars scattered among stitched grids,
each note a firefly in a storm of quiet longing.
"Do you hear them?" I asked, swirling among
nebulous constellations, where words quivered
like distant signals, aiming
for a heart-shaped horizon beyond all measure.
And you, ensconced within the octopus embrace
of electric dreams, answered without sound,
your lips blurred into the signature of the universe,
unraveling where the circles and dots reconciled their space.