Amber Residue on a Glass Heart

Concrete veins pulse with neon fatigue. The city—a loud, gray bruise.
Then, the sun. A sudden weight of gold upon my eyelids. It tastes like a forgotten promise.
I close my eyes to find you in the light. No words. Just the heat pressing against my skin, stitching together the frayed edges of my soul. The scent of jasmine and exhaust. A quiet collision of warmth and wreckage.

Editor: The Nameless Poet