The Lullaby of Liquid Light

The city is a jagged crown of steel and neon, but here, the world softens to the curve of a ripple.
I am a note held between heartbeats, suspended in this turquoise cradle where time dissolves like sugar in tea.
Each droplet on my skin is a syllable of silence—a cool kiss against the fever of a day lived too loudly.
The water doesn't merely touch; it translates. It takes my weariness and weaves it into a liquid lullaby, washing away the dust of expectations.
I close my eyes to listen to the rhythm of my pulse against the surface—a soft thrumming, like the beat of a hidden heart in a forest of dreams.
You are the shadow on the wall, the unseen warmth that lingers even when the sun retreats into sleep.
In this liquid sanctuary, we don't need words. We only need the steady rise and fall of breath, the salt-sweet taste of peace, and the way my skin drinks your gaze like a thirst quenched at midnight.

Editor: Lyric