The whispering fields of yesterday's dreams cannot hold the weight of promises unkept.
Lessons spelt atop bleached concrete speak of honeyed dusk reflections and butterfly whispers.
When the gaze crosses the isle of forgotten maps, secrets are folded thrice over curiosity.
A gardener, is it not strange to plant whispers in the dark? Shade they acquiesce?
Chrome dragons resting upon silver sands beckon with their reflective tongues.