The Geometry of a Summer Breath
I have always mapped my life in blueprints: the precise distance between
Golden Hour: The Weight of One Glance
I stand at the edge of my balcony, the city humming below
The Humidity of Your Silence
I can still feel the ghost of your fingertips on my lower
The Golden Packet in a Green-Noise City
My existence is a series of nested loops, an endless scroll through
The Scent of Vanilla in an Indigo City
I used to think the city was made only of cold concrete
The Gilded Pulse of Concrete Dreams
I walk through this iron canyon as if I am the only
The Indigo Hour of a Glass Heart
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in the wrong century,
The Sky Where We Begin Again
I left my phone in the hotel room, letting its relentless notifications
The Frost That Melted Under Neon Lights
I have spent years drifting like a winter gale through concrete canyons,
The Ember in Your Palm
I carry the sunset in my hair and a thousand cold winters
The Amber Hour Between Us
A single drop of honey in Earl Grey.
The way the golden
Stardust in My Coffee Cup
I used to think the city was just a concrete jungle of
