Prose Poetry ftw

In the languorous curves of a liquid universe, Nyx thrives in the sleep of a primordial darkness, shimmering under a starry blanket of hair that spreads out in smooth tendrils. The space takes a variety of landscapes from her hair. The gossamer of music gently awakens her form, yet quickly stirs her soul, causing the thick viscous space about her to churn and twinkle with vibrant quality. From this, light is brought forth, yet the nature of the surrounding nothingness is neither less prominent, nor is it altered. It is a substance found in massive quantities, yet completely insubstantial in and of itself.