Ronnie calls out, a whisper, a plea,
Show her your looks of mystery.
Cosmic noir, with starlit gleam,
Golds, blacks, and silver, all woven in dream.

Will you wear galaxies spun in silk threads?
Or glimmers of the stars the night sky sheds?
Show her your visions, your cosmic attire,
For a ticket to rAAVE where the spirits conspire.

🌕