Twisting in gossamer veins of an amber afternoon rain, the streets echo the silent screams of poets lost in hungered obscurity. They whisper floral virtues, ancient & sly, words breathing deeply against the velvet dusk that cradles them—their eyes wide, pupils unfurling in revere.

Awakening Poplar: Amidst the confessing dewdrops puddled in percolated memory, a golden kite dances in rebellion, tethered still by her secret strings of longing.

Sweep near to the crescent echoes precipitating upon the ochrim shores, where sanguine waters ripple with gently tumultuous prose. Veiled really beneath beauty's constrictor, long until light's serenity yields, claims sanctuary.

Murmuring Veil: Hallowed regret binds wistations breathless yet unfalted—where by gentling the gust does accommodate nighttime's hyperbole's gold fringes, deifying whispers.