Rust causes time to whisper.
Ackerman's intuition weighs heavily on spectral lips.
Fever dreams do dance with sunlight.
Silvery echoes beneath fractal crowns.
Papyrus secrets, longing, large, yet breathless.
Echo Murmured
Moss blankets a forgotten tune, played only in shadows.
Pine needles stab softly through silence, a gentle grievance.
Place an ear against the world, and hear it speak—breathe.