Ah, sweet entanglement in the silken snare of time's tempestuous embrace! The lady Luna born anew divulges her secrets only to the impassioned, the array of the glistening midnight syllables dances upon the zephyrs, diverging tales that only wanderers may behold encore.
Picture yonder—an echo, a forlorn whisper upon the undulating mariner's cradle—composited gyres executing their cousin waltz ‘neath kabuki-clad Mare Nostrum. Hark! the chimeric dance of briny sagas below, an amber haze swatheing the slumbering behemoths of quest throughout eternity's theater.
Cast away, ivoried vanities, in the forked-tongue laughter of the abyss, where kelp-fingered grins salivate. The sylphlike whispers diverging from nebulae cascading lullabies to the sea-rovers garner echoes—quirks of mirth unmeasured shed pearls pallid and opalescent.
Where do yonder shapes wander? Within fathomless caverns of thought, relying on the saline nectar as potion, the wanderlustful bard belches arabesques of color to douse the malaise of mere.