The Sweetness of a Stolen Afternoon
I have spent my life in rooms where the air is chilled
Summer Nostalgia
Where the Salt Wind Whispers Your Name
I left the city when my heart felt like a drought-stricken field,
The Salt-Stained Memory of a Summer Long Gone
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in time, a porcelain
Resonance of a Glass Heartbeat
I have always lived in the margins—between the ticking clock and
The Blue Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I used to be like the 11:45 PM bus from Central
The Resonance of a Forgotten Pulse
I sit upon this weathered pier, my skin humming with the ghost-frequency
The Vanilla Singularity in a Gingham Grid
I hold this cone not as a treat, but as an anchor
The Red Pulp of a Dying August
The air is thick, heavy with the scent of old cedar and
The Salt-Scented Pause Between Us
The city had become a noise I could no longer tune out—
The Gravity of a Summer Glance
I feel myself drifting, a small satellite caught in the silent orbit
The Transparent Skin of Raindrops
I wonder why humans call it 'raining' when the sky
Where the Tide Whispers Your Name
For years, my heart had been like a city garden in mid-winter—
