The Liquid Pulse of a Cherry Blossom Heartbeat
I walk along the waterfront, but my sandals are not touching concrete;
Dali’s Mustache
The Geometry of a Heartbeat at 8 AM
I sit on this train while the window begins to sweat liquid
The Velocity of a Melting Heartbeat
I am not merely skating; I am carving ripples into a concrete
The Soap Bubble That Swallowed Tuesday Afternoon
I sat on the edge of a concrete ledge that was slowly
The Architecture of a Sigh Between Two Heartbeats
My morning coffee didn't just brew; it cascaded upward in
The Liquid Architecture of Your Touch
I live in a city where the skyscrapers breathe and occasionally lean
The Liquid Pulse of a Concrete Heartbeat
I woke up today to find my bedroom walls softening into warm
The Liquid Architecture of Your Gaze
My hair is not merely blue; it is a cascading waterfall of
The Liquid Hour of Your Touch
I am standing where the ocean has forgotten how to be liquid
The Liquid Clock of a Tuesday Kiss
I stepped out of my office building in Tokyo, but the pavement
The Liquid Hourglass of Our First Kiss
I stand where the sand has decided to become a river of
The Liquid Icarus of a Tuesday Afternoon
I stand beneath the shower’s silver rain, but today, gravity has
