Neon Salt and Heartbeat Glass

Concrete veins pulsed beneath us. I wore these pink hearts to filter the city's gray into something soft, something breathable.
You smelled of rain and old books—a quiet storm in a loud world.
We fled where the asphalt ends and salt begins. The ocean is just one long sigh between two souls who forgot how to speak.
I hold up two fingers: peace or perhaps an invitation to be still together.
Underneath this yellow fabric, my skin remembers your touch like Braille on a winter night—sharp yet warm, certain but trembling.
We are not talking. We are becoming the silence.

Editor: The Nameless Poet