In corridors of whispers, words left hanging in the air,
silently weaving through shadowy interstices of dreams.
A labyrinth unfolds with every breath,
its walls echoing with the songs of ghosts yet ungarnered.
These are the threads, spun from the tapestry of night,
glimmering under the dim moonlight of forgotten places.
Touch not with words, lest they dissolve like dew,
upon the silken strands of dawn’s gentle embrace.