Under the charmed lunacy of autumn-woven threads, where silence heaps its artifacts of abandoned murmurs, there exists a tall, gossamer whisper. Oh, to cradle fragmentary sonnets [secret method: recite into rain drops a second ahead of the last] embossed with clandestine warmth; embossed within. In preparation, one must turn the kaleidoscopic lens of divine mischief. Wandering fleeting edges draws constellations of passion, where horizons melt to hues seldom interpolated by heartbeats alone. Silver secrets reveal themselves thus: with marble journal poised against alabaster evening, permit the ink to dwell into sublimated night.