Love, my dear, is a cavernous entity—a potpourri of echoes and shrapnel, festooned with webs spun from midnight moonlight and embossed with glittering soft secrets left untold.
We dig. We delve. Each heartbeat an excavation, charred coal memories cast off like old shells clinking together in the deep, whispering of eternities past.
Mysteries bleed between breaths, the lush hues unknown to harmony, —dissonant and yet sweet: a rose's thorn intruding, throbbing full.
You sketch labyrinths in serene solitude, pathways through the undulating nocturne—a tapestry woven from the abyss’s echo and the beloved's sigh alike.
Between the scalpel's edge and the tender phoenix plume lie airy words unspoken, burying desire beneath an opera of off-key tunefulness.
The horizon caves, a boundless sea collapsing inward, where sultry sonatas unravel the delicate sinews of spiraling dawns.
Explore these depths, heart of the enigma: