We write the sonnet of shadows, where the tongue lingers on silence
an ardor hidden, locked in the beholder’s gaze.
Neither fear nor favor find us here, in starlit confines.
Absurdity is our canvas, brushed with the arcane touch of celestial sighs.
Let us be two specters within this symphony, draped in codes eternally unwritten.
The key, my dear, is the rhythm of your heartbeat against the void.