The Lunar Vein and Sunken Emeralds
The cragged moon, a curdled, midnight bloom,
Where veins of frost, dissect a shadowed room.
A galaxy of mold, on lunar stone,
A whispered legend, soft and darkly known.
It weeps a brine, a sharp, celestial tear,
A pungent phantom, banishing all fear.
Then, amber relics, in a glassy tomb,
Where time's slow fingers, weave a spiced perfume.
Each wrinkled emerald, a sunken, ancient eye,
That holds the secrets, of a bygone sky.
They swim in brine, a sun-kissed, golden sea,
Where sharpness sleeps, and tangy memories flee.
These kindred spirits, in a twilight tryst,
A marriage strange, by starlight's silver kissed.
One, a moon's decay, a noble, bitter grace,
The other, time's own kiss, upon a verdant space.
A symphony of tang, a whispered, aged lore,
Where phantom flavors, haunt forevermore.
A taste of ages, in a shadowed, secret place,
A paradox of pleasure, etched on time's worn face.
A velvet darkness, and a sunlit, sour dream,
Where sharpened shadows, and aged sunbeams gleam.
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