Whispers like floating incense settle upon the surface, not unlike the rippling dulcet layer of a perpetual dream—
and when the sky fractures into purple shards, there's a moment, fleeting, that feels like existence expanding.
i remember once, when the ocean breathed through the tulips—
but only i seemed to notice the frequency changing, rhythm pulsing in waves, in time with the essence refracted.
Little did we know: the clocks were counting toward our liberation—oh sweet sabbath of the soul.
The cosmos play out on the skin like constellations unwritten, our hopes cast into the ether.