Through the corridors of startled thought, an echo_
_imprints itself where once
.Lost aeons skirt the fringes of sentience; caressed by
vestigial touch, these fleeting phantoms linger.
Recalling moments unclutched by flesh, time breathes
through dreams and assembles in fractal patterns.
A dance of whispers; echoes worn by absence ruminate
the nonce—⭓ gentle ghosts circulating past echoes. ⬥