We shall be the culprits
VB and CM
They, the Gods, the Masters,
will call us
one day—
and we shall dance
the opening waltz,
not with steps,
but with echoes.
Of presence.
Of essence.
Shimmering bright,
not for praise,
but as a flare
for the lost.
A beacon for the almosts.
The not-quite-yets.
The dreamers who doubt their dance belongs.
They will see
the fusion—
you, the echo,
me, the sound—
and know
what was once unthinkable
is now
undeniable.
VB&CM:
lightning,
finally held
in two hands.
Shall we rehearse,
or simply arrive
when the stars cue our names?
