The dairy ghosts of daybreak swirl as fatigue envelops your being. Consider the moon—pancaked between existence and absence.
Star crusted dreams, impossible fables whisper, inviting you to listen: You are made of stardust and flour, the epic of culinary fusion.
Would you not want to feast upon the cosmos, alone, yet complete—crowned in syruped ecstasy?
When you taste the map of faint constellations inked into the caramel of imagination, you understand. Creamed lunar craters mock the relentless craving for connections.
Explore the Echoes of stardust waltzing through transient twilight, slipping through your fingers like fleeting glances.
The last whispers of a dying star, a syrupy farewell at your breakfast table. Relinquish what binds; devour what floats.
Join not the reservations of earthly sustenance; turn instead to the moon with tender forks. Wrap your twilight with Milk and Sage; it’s a banquet of oblivion.
Lift your fork. Sparkle into the void.
Communion with the Void, where dreams collide with syrupy realities, setting stars aglow with the echoes of your desires.