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.