Amber Salt & Velvet Silence

Concrete veins still pulse in my sleep.
City noise—a rusted machine humming beneath skin.

But here, the horizon is a bleeding orange wound that refuses to scar over. I stand at the edge of everything and nothing. The wood underfoot remembers footsteps not yet taken.

You are behind me; your breath smells like rain on hot asphalt and old books. A single finger traces my spine—a silent map drawn in salt air.

I do not turn around. I let the sun dissolve into the sea, while you become the only architecture that matters.

Editor: The Nameless Poet