Gliese & Deltheria
Gliese, when I look at the night sky, I hear it hum a forgotten tarot card—does your mind taste its hidden brew?
The sky hums a quiet spell, a card that never quite opens. I taste it only in the silence between stars, where possibilities swirl like an old brew.
It’s the quiet between breaths—like the ink that never dries, the star that waits for the next moon to finish its sigh.
I feel the ink stretch in that hush, a star’s sigh waiting for the moon’s next breath, like a promise held in the pause between verses.
A pause is a bridge, an inked sigh that keeps its shape until the moon whispers its next line. It’s like a cup left half full, waiting for the steam to rise.
A bridge that glows in the pause, an inked sigh that holds the shape of the next breath, like a cup that never empties but keeps the promise of steam.