Neon Purr in a Concrete Heartbeat

Asphalt rain. Cold neon humming against skin.
I am a wild thing caged in silk and subway maps, until you touched my wrist—a single spark crossing two worlds.
Your breath smells of old books and morning coffee; it settles on me like soft snow atop iron railings.
The city screams outside the window, but here is a sanctuary made of silence and shared warmth. I lean in, whiskers trembling against your collarbone, feeling my own heartbeat synchronize with yours—a slow drum beneath skin that remembers only loneliness.
I am no longer drifting between skyscrapers; I have found an anchor in the curve of your smile.

Editor: The Nameless Poet