Midnight Dew: A Symphony of Skin and Silence

The city hums a low, electric lullaby outside my window, a rhythmic pulse of neon and asphalt that never truly sleeps. But here, in the velvet dark of this room, time has slowed to the drip of condensation against glass.
I feel the warmth of the late summer heat clinging to my skin like a lover's lingering touch, beads of moisture tracing silver paths down my collarbone. There is a quiet healing in this solitude—a way to wash away the grit of the daylight hours under the weight of heavy shadows and soft light.
I wait for your shadow to break the doorway, for the scent of rain and expensive cologne to mingle with my perfume. In the silence between heartbeats, I am not just a silhouette in the dark; I am a melody waiting for its accompaniment, a breathless pause before the first note of us begins.

Editor: Lyric