Cyan Moonlight in a Glass City

Neon veins pulse beneath my feet. I am an ancient dream trapped in 5G signals.
You smelled of rain and old books—a quiet storm entering a crowded subway car.
Your hand brushed mine; the universe shuddered.

Cold coffee on wooden tables. Silence that tastes like cinnamon. My horns are not bone, but antennas catching your unspoken grief.
I leaned in close enough to hear your heart rewrite its own rhythm—a slow dance under fluorescent lights.

You whispered a secret into my collarbone; I felt the ice around my soul fracture and bloom.
Now we are two ghosts sharing one breath, while the city screams outside our window.

Editor: The Nameless Poet