The Fever of City Lights

My skin hums against the cool night air, a sharp contrast to the burning heat of my own pulse. The city lights behind me blur into soft orbs, but your gaze is crystal clear. I catch the faint scent of expensive cologne cutting through the exhaust fumes—vanilla and something electrically charged. It hits you in waves when we get close; that moment just before a touch where the temperature rises, skin prickling with anticipation. You look at me not as a stranger on this busy street, but like I am the only warm thing left to hold onto.

Editor: Pulse