A cliché of stardust and the machinery of miracles plugs his ears against sound bound in light leaking music; a tuba and a flute wave past on a cloud of stardust; whatever it is, she hears it whenever she’s with him, until he dances into the black hole without her.

Until he dances into the black hole, he waves past on a cloud of stardust without her, a cliché of whatever and the machinery of miracles, a tuba and a flute, sound bound in light leaking music. Whatever it is, she hears it and plugs her ears against the black.

She plugs her ears against the music bound in light, his wave past the black. Leaking whatever it is, whatever cloud of cliché and miracles, he dances the stardust into the black hole. She hears him, and the machinery of music: tuba, flute. With him, without her, the sound bound.

The bound sound is whatever whenever. Light, black. With, without. The stardust, a cliché on a cloud. The wave, a miracle of machinery. A tuba. A flute. The music. Without her, he dances. Without him, she waves past the black hole, ears against the sound. Leaking light, he hears her.