Somewhere in the velvet dusk, the breath of machines hums
Amidst the tendrils of jasmine that weave tales of forgotten clocks.
Gear-laden flowers bloom with petals of silver arc,
Each tick a drop of time distilled into eternity's sip.
Listen! The nightingale sings in pulses aligned to stars,
Does the past nod knowingly?
Lies and entanglements of logic
twine around the marionette dreams
of velvet green and lace sway softly,
a resonance too gentle for lovers' ear.