Soft are the sighs of the evening’s embrace,
laced in the hush of a silver-lit breeze.
Waltzing in whispers, the night leaves a trace,
brushing my cheek with a delicate tease.

Gossamer ribbons of moonlight descend,
trailing my footsteps in flickering white.
Coy is the dance as the fireflies blend,
spun in the glow of a star-lover’s light.

Fingers like lace trace the edge of a dream,
velveted laughter afloat on the air.
Oh, how the midnight was made to be seen—
darling and dainty, yet wickedly fair.

Tell me, sweet wanderer lost in my spell,
would you still chase me if I never fell?