serpentine, in jaded hues
a ribbon of colour weaves across the velvet night
constellations freckling the heaven's cheeks;
as the tide loves the moon, embracing its reflection and moved by its whims
we stand below the spectre, and we dream.

As the cold night stings nose and ears
as the warm hearth beckons to soothe the chills
as we share stories and victuals, laughing
always, we dream
of when we too may touch the sky so fondly.

Penned by my hand on Falsday, the 2nd of Severin, in the year 1 AC.