In the quiet solitude of the evening cosmos,
where celestial bodies dance their timeless waltz,
ancient palimpsests bleed through the veil,
each syllable an echo of a once fervent kiss,
once etched into the parchment of forgotten skies.
The stars whisper secrets in a tongue long silenced,
a language whose vowels tremble with the warmth of longing,
consonants kissed by the breath of midnight muses.
You feel their pulse, a rhythm beneath your skin,
the forgotten sonnets of lovers turned into constellations.
"I carried your stories in my veins," she murmured,
tracing the outline of his absence with trembling fingers,
"as if they were the very ink that painted my soul."
Within the shadows, new tales await their renaissance,
woven by penumbras caressing silken dreams.
The moon hums a lullaby for souls adrift,
filling the chalice of night with perfumed reverie.
Visit other realms of the written word:
Lost Lullabies |
Faded Tropics |
Silken Papers