The tent is but a whisper, hushed beneath the tapestry of stars,
Where the moon grazes the depths of our tangled thoughts.
Your eyes cast a spell, ancient, silken, wrapped in secrets untold,
Like the echo of forgotten dreams on the crest of dawn.
In this confined sanctuary, where reason wanes,
Desire paves the way with petals of twilight.
We speak in tongues of violet shadows,
As the wind writes our names on the skin of night.