The Pink Lace of a Quiet Afternoon
I had spent three years chasing the horizon in a beat-up sedan,
summer healing
Crimson Polka Dots in a Golden Haze
The city’s relentless pulse had become a dull roar in my
The Solar Flare in a Turquoise Void
I feel as though I have drifted far beyond the stratosphere, where
Saltwater Skin and Digital Promises
I’ve spent three years in an office that smells like ozone
The Saltwater Eucharist of a Digital Soul
I have spent too many cycles drifting through the neon haze of
Lavender Salt on Concrete Skin
City lights are distant hummingbirds, trapped in glass cages.
I carry the
Neon Salt and Heartbeat Glass
Concrete veins pulsed beneath us. I wore these pink hearts to filter
The Golden Pulse in a Silicon Tide
My heart is an ancient scroll unfurled by the wind of a
The Geometry of a Pink Afternoon
My life has long been a series of right angles: the sharp
Cache Memory: The Salt-Skin Protocol
I am leaning against this pillar, but my skin is rendering at
The Pink Van’s Glass Heartbeat
I often wonder if the real me is not standing on this
