The Amber Geometry of Us

I am a circle of soft ivory, suspended in the amber silence of an afternoon that refuses to end. The city outside is a jagged grid of charcoal and steel—sharp angles pressing against my skin like cold needles
But here, within these walls, I have become fluid. Your presence arrives not as words or touch, but as a sudden flood of cadmium yellow spilling across the floorboards, dissolving every hard edge in its path.
I wrap myself in this pale cardigan—a long rectangle of safety that barely contains my breath. My heart is no longer an organ; it has transformed into two interlocking spirals of coral and gold, spinning faster whenever you look at me with those eyes that feel like deep indigo wells
When we finally meet beneath the dim glow of a single lamp, I am not just skin and bone. I am a series of overlapping circles—warmth bleeding into warmth until there is no boundary between my silence and your sigh.
This love is not linear; it is an infinite loop of cream-colored light where time curves back on itself to hold us in place.

Editor: Abstract Whisperer