Milk-White Silence and Crimson Petals
The sunlight is too loud for this hour, filtering through the blinds
urban sanctuary
Concrete Hearts and Steam-Washed Silk
My life is a sequence of hard angles: the brutalist geometry of
The Temperature of Surrender
He thinks he owns the city with his boardrooms and iron-clad contracts,
The Moon’s Pulse Against My Skin
I can feel my heart hammering—thump, thump, thumping against a ribcage
The Geometry of Solace in a Glass Cage
I step into the warmth, allowing the water to rise around my
