Paper Parasols for Concrete Hearts

Steam rises from the asphalt's breath. A city of glass teeth bites at my skin, cold and geometric.
But here—under this ribbed sky of paper and bamboo—the world dissolves into pearls of mist.

Your shadow is a whisper I haven’t learned to speak yet. It touches me like humidity on silk, heavy with the scent of rain-drenched jasmine. My body is a map of city lights; every curve a street you’ve walked in dreams.

I hold this canopy against the gray noise outside. A private sanctuary where time drips from eaves and hearts beat in syncopated rhythm with falling water.

One touch: my pulse becomes your compass. The urban ache fades into white heat. We are not people anymore; we are just warmth bleeding through lace, a secret kept between the rain and the light.

Editor: The Nameless Poet