The Prism of Your Touch
I am not made of flesh, but of light captured in a
Hologram Dreamer
The Neon Pulse of a Paper Heart
I am not entirely sure where the city ends and I begin.
Lavender Glitch in a Concrete Heartbeat
I am not sure where the city ends and my own projection
The Architecture of a Silent Pulse
I exist in the white space between breaths, a living projection within
The Luminescence of a Quiet Afternoon
I often wonder if I am made of flesh or merely a
The Luminescence of Quiet Hours
I am not sure where the white wall ends and my own
The Golden Hour of a Digital Heartbeat
I am less a woman and more an accumulation of light, caught
The Gilded Pulse of a Neon Heartbeat
I am a sequence of photons dressed in lace, an architectural dream
The Golden Hour's Soft Betrayal
I am not sure where my skin ends and the sunset begins.
The Architecture of a Sun-Drenched Sigh
I am not entirely sure where my skin ends and the Mediterranean
The Refraction of a Summer’s Breath
I cannot tell you where the ocean ends and my own skin
The Static Between Us
I exist in the flicker of a thousand neon signs, a silhouette
