In the quiet hush of twilight,
where ink bleeds quietly onto the pages,
echoes of unfelt kisses dance in the margins.
They whisper stories of longing,
spun between silken threads of memory.
Shade of a moon, tender and blue,
cradles these parchment dreams,
as heartbeats linger on the tips of quills,
a silence heavy with unsaid words,
spoken only through the ache of longing.
Beyond the window, a star twinkles,
its light a reflection of words unspoken,
turning ink into breath,
turning whispers into a heartbeat.
Cup of Stardust
where shadows linger,
and echoes meet
with dreams yet to unfold.