The Humidity of Your Silence
I can still feel the ghost of your fingertips on my lower
Urban Romance
The Scent of Vanilla in an Indigo City
I used to think the city was made only of cold concrete
The Gilded Pulse of Concrete Dreams
I walk through this iron canyon as if I am the only
The Indigo Hour of a Glass Heart
I have always felt like an artifact misplaced in the wrong century,
The Ember in Your Palm
I carry the sunset in my hair and a thousand cold winters
The Amber Hour Between Us
A single drop of honey in Earl Grey.
The way the golden
The Golden Hour of a Digital Heartbeat
I am less a woman and more an accumulation of light, caught
Electric Veins in a Neon Concrete Jungle
The city is a cold machine, all steel and glass humming with
Prism Heartbeat in a Concrete Jungle
I am a fracture of light in this gray city. They call
The Weight of a Single Breath
The city is a blur of neon noise, but here—in the
The Architecture of a Glance
He thinks he’s reading me like one of his blueprints—precise,
The Gravity of a Single Touch
I have lived my life like a satellite in high orbit—distant,
