Salt on the Lip of a Concrete Tide
Concrete ribs ache under the city's weight. I am a
The Nameless Poet
Sipping the Sun’s Residue
The sun is a heavy coin pressed against my ribs, molten and
Saltwater Amnesia
Concrete veins. The city hummed a grey frequency that drowned my pulse.
Saltwater Amnesia
Concrete lungs. Exhaust fumes for breakfast.
Then, you. A sudden rupture in
Amber Echoes in White Linen
Ice cubes clink. A slow percussion of melting time.
The city hums
Amber Pulse in a Concrete Vein
Steel towers. Cold coffee. The hum of 10 million lonely hearts.
Then,
Saffron Salt on a Glass Heart
City concrete bled grey into my veins. I was a clock with
Hum of a Pale Summer
Electric wind.
A rhythmic thrumming that tastes of ozone and old wood
Chlorophyll Breath in a Concrete Lung
Concrete veins pulsed beneath my skin for years. Then you arrived—a
Saffron Breath in a Neon City
Glass towers. The city hums a cold, electric blue.
I carry the
Saltwater Amnesia
Concrete lungs. The city breathed smog and deadlines until I forgot the
Amber Breath in Concrete Veins
Concrete screams under my feet, but here—the air tastes of old
