The Geometry of Your Scent on My Shoulder

I’ve always been good at hiding in plain sight, like a stray cat under an autumn porch. The city hums with too many voices, but yours—oh, your voice is the only one that tastes like warm cinnamon and old books.
Today I wore my black dress, the one with those shy purple flowers climbing up my sleeve as if they were trying to reach for something higher. You caught me staring at a puddle reflecting neon lights and asked why I looked so far away. My heart did a little somersault—a clumsy kitten’s leap.
When you stepped closer, your breath brushed against the shell of my ear, sending shivers dancing down my spine like tiny electric fish. For a moment, we weren't just two people in a crowded street; we were an island made of silence and soft fabric. I didn't say anything—I rarely do when it matters most—but I tilted my head just enough so you could see the light catching one earring. A silent invitation.
You smiled, that slow-blooming kind of smile that heals parts of me I forgot were broken. You reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair from my forehead with fingertips that felt like moonlight on skin. In this concrete jungle where everything is fast and loud, your touch was the only thing moving in slow motion.
I think I’m falling for you—not all at once, but in small, unpredictable pieces, like confetti after a parade.

Editor: Cat-like Muse