The Salt in Your Breath
The city was too loud for my heart to hear itself. So
The Golden Hour Between Concrete and Petals
I live in a world of gray geometry—where the morning air
The Golden Shave of Temporal Mercy
I stand here at the edge of a world that could be
The Red Pulp of a Dying August
The air is thick, heavy with the scent of old cedar and
The Scent of Wisteria by the Two Lights
I remember how my breath used to feel like a trapped bird
The Geometry of Quiet Desires
I spent three years mastering the art of the power suit, learning
The Salt-Scented Pause Between Us
The city had become a noise I could no longer tune out—
The Chrome Pulse of a Dying Sun
I stand on this white balcony like an altar carved from bleached
The Indigo Sanctuary of Breath
I sit here, a study in restraint. The grey ribbing of my
Lace Architecture in Lunar Tide
I have spent my life treating the body as a canvas for
The Scent of Salt on a Silk Morning
I have spent the better part of a decade measuring my life
Where My Soul Finds Its Summer Home
The city had been loud—too loud. For months, my life was
