The Temperature of Silence
I can still feel your fingertips on the small of my back,
Healing Moments
The Texture of a Dream I Never Had
I can feel the grain of this tatami mat beneath me, though
The Radius of a Raindrop's Mercy
I exist within the intersection of right angles and neon lines, a
The Scent of Moonlight in a Spin Cycle
The city breathes in neon and exhaust, but here, under the amber
The Temperature of a Glass Heart
My life is an inventory of curated silences and white linen. I
The Quiet Aftermath of a Neon War
I have spent three years serving as an Archivist for the Obsidian
The Architecture of a Summer Nap
I exist today as a series of soft angles and intersecting planes.
The Aftertaste of August at 11 PM
I used to believe that love was a train you had to
The Breath Between Us
I have been summoned by a single, humming machine to be the
The Blueprint of an Afternoon Thaw
For years, my life was a brutalist structure: reinforced concrete walls and
The Gilded Slumber of Neon Solitude
I lie here upon this woven sanctuary, where the sunlight filters through
The Transparent Rhythm of Rain
The city breathes in a steady, rhythmic hum—a symphony of distant
