The Temperature of Paper and Skin
I have learned to love the city best when it is silent,
The Algorithm of Petals and Pulse
I have spent three years living as a ghost in the machine,
The Transparent Sanctuary
I am a soft creature in an architecture of indifference. Around me,
The Vanilla Hour that Bent the City
I leaned against a brick wall that had begun to breathe, its
The Sprint Towards a Beautiful Mistake
I am running across this crosswalk like a character in some low-budget
The Golden Hour Ritual of a Silent Heartbeat
The Archive has marked this street corner as a 'null zone&
The Silicon Pulse of a Dying Sun
I stand on the steel ribcage of this city, my white dress
Golden Hour Tremors
My heart is a glitchy metronome, skipping beats every time your shadow
The Fragrance of Rain-Dampened Wool
I stood at the edge of the pier, letting the gray mist
The Golden Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I left the city when its concrete pulse began to feel like
The Alabaster Shore: A Symphony in White
I have spent years encased in the chrome and glass of a
The Quartz Pulse of a Digital Sunset
I stand where the salt spray meets my skin, but in my
