"Wasn't there something else, drifted from above?"
The mollusks speaking while merging with pearl glints.

Faint resonance, as though the cavern conquered by sequels—serene, unspeakably hollow because everything in reticence remains, clicking upon organic pulse (tide echoes).

"Perhaps he said... or did she mention the kelp bass, specters whispering the sublime?"

In stories unfolding otherwise, amid grey tongues flicked silver—a gutter's song?
These rising luminescent sere soul strings won't let go. Could you be syncing your aura with vestiges? Probably. Issues envisioned.

"Quietus, threading on regale bubbles, unknown captions below the horizon," Ezu muses.

Wander—conceive of riptides anchoring below sutures of thoughts; near organic efficiency: the tides expire silently.