Sunburn lemonade

In shadows deep where moonlight wanes
a fleeting figure, silent, veers.
Through whispered winds and starlit shards
a phantom lost to countless vains.

Why do you sublimate so slowly
when my skin touches your fingers?

No rhyme or reason guides a flight
and no earthly tether holds it fast.
A specter born of fading opera,
its essence worn by the past.

The world is a canvas painted gray,
it bears witness to its spectral pace.
As memories dissolve away
time itself begins to phase out.

Why do you volatize so quickly
when my fingers touch your skin?

The stars, like tears in heaven’s maze,
watch as it fades beyond their sight.
A whispered echo, so lost in its haze,
vanishes into the endless never.