The Neon Threshold of Us
I stand before this wall of glowing pink neon, but my eyes
The Saltwater Slumber of a Concrete Heart
I had forgotten the language of tides, lost in a city where
The Ascent of Crimson Heat
I stand here while the city tries to pull me down with
The Scent of Summer Rain and Unspoken Words
I have spent years chasing horizons that always seemed to recede, my
Golden Hour Whispers on an Endless Road
I’ve always been a creature of the city—all neon veins
A Glitch Called Tenderness
I’ve spent three years debugging the central nervous system of this
Hum of a Pale Summer
Electric wind.
A rhythmic thrumming that tastes of ozone and old wood
The Thermal Harvest of an Afternoon Sigh
I sit here at this small iron table, not merely as a
Velvet Breath in a Concrete Lung
I live my life between the brutalist ribs of this city—all
The Silence Between Our Footsteps
I can hear your breath behind me, a steady rhythm that competes
The Scent of Sun-Drenched Denim
The city usually feels like a concrete storm, cold and relentless against
The Golden Hour in a Silver Frame
I have always lived in the reflection of things. The world tells
