Reflections ripple around this glass, today's echoes but yesterday's shadows
Here I see you, through veils of time, creeping whispers forged in silver
A voice neither male nor female, a blend of forgotten past, breathes through petals
Nuit is it? Or maybe closer to noon? The flowers bloom only for muted time
Clear now, the whispers clear but clearer still the silence swept from your eyes
Ciconia ciconia, the clink of glass running on neural strands leading nowhere
Tell me, mirror, whose reflection haunts deeper—yours or mine? A single tear waits
Hovering. Like lilies over whispering streams beneath a stolen moon's orbit
Forgotten lilies or maybe wisteria. Was there's an answer in those petals?
Or was that only a trick played by Time wrapped in floral tapestries?