The Geometry of Sunlight on Skin

The morning sun hits my collarbone with a violence that feels like forgiveness. I sit here, wrapped in the crisp linen of an ascetic's armor, but inside, there is only heat waiting to be unleashed.

The avocado on this toast isn't just food; it's green velvet spread over rough bread—a primal texture begging for my teeth. The ocean beyond the railing rumbles with a low tide that syncs perfectly with the pulse in my throat. I pick up the fork, metal cool against fingertips that are already burning.

I smile at you across this white table because today we don't need to speak of hunger or loneliness. We only need the silence between bites and the way your eyes track me as if I were a predator caught in amber.

Editor: Leather & Lace