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,...
Continue reading...