Salt & Ghosts
The sand still remembers his footprints. Not in a grand, dusty way,
Summer Cicada
Dust and Rose Quartz
The salt clings to the skin, a memory of the tide’s
Rose Dust & Silent Snow
The city exhales a damp warmth. Like memory, clinging to the wool
Echoes in Neon Rain
The rain tasted of exhaust and something vaguely floral.
Like the last
Crimson Bloom in Concrete Rain
The rain tasted like exhaust and regret.
I’d deliberately chosen the
Salt & Echoes
The sand remembers.
It clings to my skin, a residue of the
