The Salt on Your Skin is My Only Compass
The sand is still hot under my heels, but the air smells
Street-side Poet
Salt on the Lips, Sun in the Marrow
The city is a beast that never sleeps, its neon veins pulsing
Red Silk and Concrete Breath
The humidity of the afternoon clings to my skin like a second
Saltwater Lullabies in a Concrete Jungle
The city screams outside these walls—a grinding symphony of sirens, subway
Salt on the Skin, Silk in the Soul
The tide doesn't care about my deadlines or the way
Sunflowers in a Concrete Jungle
The asphalt outside is still screaming with the heat of noon, a
Salt on My Skin, Your Name in My Breath
The sand is a coarse map of every step I’ve taken
The Metal Pulse of a Neon Dream
The Ferris wheel turns like a rusted clock, ticking away the seconds
Mirrors Don’t Keep Secrets, But Hearts Do
The air here is filtered, tasting of expensive perfume and the sharp,
Pulse Underneath the Chrome
The city doesn't sleep; it just twitches in a neon
A Heartbeat Against the Tide
The stone beneath me is cold, a relic of centuries that have
The Salt of Midnight Dreams
The city doesn't sleep; it just holds its breath, waiting
