“The salt of unrighteous tears”

We balance our hearts on scales
That are void of a truth within
We cross universes seeking
But the formulas of existence
The one’s that make sense of loving something
Fall in between the spaces
That stretch between heartbeats
We weep tears as salty as our oceans
And pray to ourselves
That flesh and love
Swim together
In that sea that knows
Why….

When the clock strikes 12, the world exhales,
And silence spills through shadowed trails.
A hush falls soft on rooftops steep,
While stars begin their solemn sweep.

The moon slips on her silver veil,
A whisper carried by the gale.
Curtains dance to unseen hands,
As midnight casts its quiet demands.

Time bends in that fleeting chime,
A bridge between the day and time
Where secrets stir and spirits wake,
And dreams slip through the cracks they make.

Old wishes echo in the air,
Unspoken hopes, half-spun despair.
A fox tiptoes through garden dew,
The world turns dark, then strangely new.

Lovers kiss in borrowed light,
Owls take flight into the night.
The clock ticks on, a lullaby,
For those who ache, for those who cry.

When the clock strikes 12, beware—
Magic hums through midnight air.
And if you listen close, you’ll hear
The heartbeats of another sphere.

Along a trickling stream,
there's a hushed whereabouts
she likes to routinely gather
her thoughts from, before
assigning her task
to bathing amongst
the shadows.

Today's reflections vastly
withdrew, untwining
such musings,
as a playful breeze
whispered unto her
of an unbeknownst admirer's
dedication.

And so avidly fixed it was
upon the arched swell of
her lower back,
she quite shivered.
But be it a pleasurable fear,
she allowed him such liberties,
and stepped into the light.