By the horizon sits a woman of silver,
Unsullied by the tarnished ghosts buried in the sand.
She softens the memories that cling to my broken touch,
And adorns me with the breath of a thousand brilliant moons.

Let me swim in the silver woman,
Let her skin sculpt oblivion unto me.
Bathe in the softness of her scintillating reverie
As my soul dances in the elixir of her kiss.

Her shadows cradle the valley.
A gradient echo caressed by twilight.
Her light,
drawn by the moon,
teases the summits I once held tight.

She melts into a river,
a serpent forged divine,
and rises from the soil of my heed bound by sublime.
My old wounds,
sacred and scarred,
flourish in my garden,
Growing into a dazzling orchid of stars.

The silver woman swims in me.
Her soul—
Sparkles under my tears.
She glides upon my delicate whimpers,
and drinks the plume nestled between my eyes.

By the horizon, I sit — adored in flesh.
Born of radiant bruises and solemn breath.
My touch gilded in silver-bound ribbons.
Whispering the joy of collapsing suns.

Entwined with the lover I envision.