Steam From a Paper Cup in an Infinite Rain
The rain does not fall; it descends like a heavy curtain, blurring
Summer Cicada
The Red Pulp of a Dying August
The air is thick, heavy with the scent of old cedar and
The Golden Hour of Unspoken Things
The sun is an indifferent god, pouring its heavy gold over the
The Scent of Rain on Hot Asphalt
The air in this city is thick, like wet wool clinging to
The Silver Echo in a Silent Desert
The sun here does not just shine; it weighs upon the skin
The Indigo Hour Between Us
I stand on this cold steel edge while the city breathes below
The Salt-Stained Silence Between Us
The sun is a heavy hand pressing against my skin, smelling of
The Melting Hour Between Us
Concrete breathes heat. The air is thick, tasting of salt and exhaust
The Scent of Concrete and Unspoken Things
The sun clings to the graffiti walls like a damp cloth, smelling
The Scent of Asphalt and Stolen Summers
The air in this apartment is thick, like the silence between two
The Salt-Scented Memory of You
My skin still tastes of the city's humid August—salt,
The Static Between Our Heartbeats
The city breathes in heavy, humid gasps. Outside my window, the neon
