Burnt amethyst skies crackling, silent echoes whisper farewell, far beyond the reach of time. Dream weavers in twilight, their breath woven into fabric unseen, astral residue of long-lost sighs.
Ghosts in mollusk shells, incandescent and phantasmal, elephants hold cosmos in their ears; listen—last convictions rattle eternal whispers fluid with erotic entropy.
Consumed by dusk’s embrace, borrowed moments from the fabric of existence spill, scattered like dried ink on unchanged parchment, memories yearning for coherence
aftermath of titanic supernovas.
Your gaze penetrates the panes of nonbeing, where light falters against void filled with senses unseen. Time travels backward, to reclaim the unclaimed sporadic notes of heartbeats fading, striking percussive resonance amongst pulsars’ dying dances.
If I could speak one final truth:
to eclipse is not to shatter,
but to transform,
each ribbon of light a first kiss—
a beacon in amaranthine dark.