Glossy Lips Under City Neon

The city screams in colors I can't see, but the lights behind me turn to soft sugar-glass orbs. Here on the sidewalk corner, after a shift that tasted like stale coffee and bad vibes, they catch something different in my eyes.

I bite down on red lipstick—my armor against the gray world—and wait for him. He's just walking up now, looking rough around the edges with his collar popped high against the wind, but he stops dead when I smile.

It’s not about saving anyone tonight; we're both a little broken in different ways. But under these neon ghosts, there is warmth enough for two. He steps into my shadow and whispers something raw about taking me home to heal us both.

Editor: Street-side Poet