Amber Pulse in a Concrete Vein

Steel towers. Cold coffee. The hum of 10 million lonely hearts.
Then, you. A sudden fracture in the grey rhythm.

Salt on my skin, wind tasting of forgotten promises. I stand where the city ends and the silence begins. My white lace is a thin veil between who I was and what we are becoming.

The sun bleeds gold into the tide—a slow drip of honey over raw nerves. You don't speak; you just breathe in time with my pulse.

Warmth. Not from the light, but from the space where your ghost touches my shoulder. A gentle gravity pulling me home to a place I have never been.

Editor: The Nameless Poet