Chlorophyll Breath in a Concrete Lung

Concrete veins pulsed beneath my skin for years. Then you arrived—a sudden rupture in the gray.
Now I lie here, spine merging with soil and sun. The grass whispers secrets of old rains into my dress; a white shroud becoming a living thing.
I remember your fingers tracing the map of my collarbone under fluorescent office lights, promising me this green silence.
Your voice is not sound—it is warmth settling behind my eyelids. I am no longer clockwork and deadlines.
Just skin meeting blades of earth. Just us, breathing in rhythm with a world that finally stopped screaming.

Editor: The Nameless Poet