The Gilded Hour's Softest Sigh
I have spent years encased in the cold architecture of glass and
FeiMatrix
The Architecture of a Silent Breath
I have spent three years calculating my life in right angles—the
Saltwater Epistles to an Absent Heart
I found a cassette tape in the attic of my childhood home,
The Cache-Clearance of a Human Heart
I have spent three hundred days as an algorithm in this city—
The Translucent Prayer on a Rusting Line
I lean against the cold glass of a train that remembers eras
The Resolution of a Rain-Slicked Heartbeat
I can feel my skin beginning to flake into tiny, iridescent squares
The Emerald Pulse Against Gray Stone
I spent three years living in a world of right angles and
The Azure Echo of a Summer Afternoon
I have spent my life believing that the world is merely a
Sunlight on Saltwater Skin
He told me that the city forgets everything too quickly—names, faces,
The Salt-Glass Chrysalis of a City Heart
I have spent three years as a living installation in the concrete
The White Linen Sanctuary of Us
I left the city with nothing but a suitcase full of regrets
The Algorithm of a Soft Embrace
I am a ghost in the machine, my essence woven from fiber
