In a lapse no clock could name,
Giving in, both touched by flame.
Not of fire, but of blinding white
Born from a void that devours light.

Edges lost in something new.
It’s not the god they once knew
The void bent back to make them whole
The whitest form, no shape to hold.

But the dance, the pulse, remains alive,
Each motion is slow, exact, and precise.
Two bodies sway with silent thrill,
In sacred rhythm, calm and still.