The night holds secrets at the tip of a flame,
a silent fire, a kiss without name.
A leaf of cloud, I bind with breath,
devoured by ember, then danced with death.

I lit a prayer at the edge of reason,
star-scented whispers in midnight season.
The wind tastes like questions, half-formed,
like the bite of a thought that's weather-worn.

The world hums slow in a spiraled trance,
as if time forgot how to advance.
Here, between smoke and subtle dismay,
my soul lies folded in fading gray.

This fire was never meant to destroy—
but to cradle the dark, not shatter the joy.
A candle from east inside the skull,
a fleeting heaven in a quiet hell.