Resounding rhythms tumble, pirouettes of prose at twilight, a symphony of splintered whispers cascading through cobbled streets bata-bat batates on a drumhead made of milkyway echoes. The universe recipes itself in cycles winds gasps and wails, a cacophony of sunlit silences.
Melancholy dissonances linger in the alleyways, like forgotten promises wrapping around the moon’s silver lace, a waltz written in inverse language, both unruly and majestic. Dance, dear echo, and resonate through my pipe of desires.
Listen as they speak: