Lavender Salt on Concrete Skin

City lights are distant hummingbirds, trapped in glass cages.
I carry the scent of steel and coffee beans beneath my fingernails until I find this wooden edge.

The water does not speak; it only remembers how to hold me.
Lavender fabric against sun-warmed skin—a soft rebellion against a world that demands we be hard, efficient, invisible.

You arrived with nothing but silence and two cold drinks in your hands.
Your shadow touched mine before you spoke.

I felt the concrete of my heart crack open under the weight of one look. We are not lovers yet; we are just two ghosts learning how to breathe again in a city that never sleeps.

Editor: The Nameless Poet