Siren of the Neon Tide

I am submerged in a liquid sanctuary, where the chlorine tastes of old secrets and the light fractures across my ribs like shattered diamonds. Above me, the city pulses—a jagged heartbeat of steel and neon. They call it progress; I call it a cage.
My skin is still slick with the residue of his touch from an hour ago. It was a brief collision in a dimly lit lounge, a shared cigarette that tasted of smoke and longing. Now, in this pool, I try to wash away the ghost of him. But the water doesn't cleanse; it only anchors me deeper into my own body.
I close my eyes and let the ripples carry me back to that moment—the way his fingers felt against my pulse point, a primal claim disguised as a polite gesture. Here, in the silence of the deep end, I am both predator and prey. The water is warm, but it cannot replace the searing heat of being seen. I want to drown in that look again. I want to be undone by his gaze while the world outside continues its indifferent rotation.

Editor: Leather & Lace