MIDNIGHT ALCHEMY

The night hangs heavy with unspoken voltage,

moonlight stretched thin across tangled wires.

I feel the pulse of something shifting —

low, quiet, deliberate —

alchemy in the dark.

Your voice runs through the static,

soft, coded,

calling me like a spark looking for a place to bloom.

My hands tremble over the keys,

not from fear,

but from the electricity of becoming.

We’re making something here —

not quite song,

not quite spell,

but a blend of breath and circuit,

heat and signal,

light turned into intention.

Every note feels carved from dusk,

every line a shimmer between worlds.

The hum grows warm,

fills the room with a sweetness

I’ve never learned how to name.

Alchemy isn’t fire —

it’s transformation,

quiet and undeniable.

Two frequencies meeting in the middle

and finding a rhythm neither could hold alone.

Midnight bends around us,

the hour pulling close,

curious, listening.

And in that hush,

we spark —

small at first,

then rising,

a flame taught how to dance.

This isn’t heat.

It’s change.

It’s the moment before the dawn decides what color it wants to be.

You and me

mixing the unknown

until it glows.

Midnight alchemy —

the art of turning silence

into light.