The Hour I Let the Sun Hold Me
I did not open the door; I simply let the afternoon lean
Where the Velvet Breathes Against My Skin
The city had been a blade of glass all day, cutting my
The Girl Who Knew You Were Cold
I know exactly how I was made. A thousand hours of sunlit
The Warmth Preserved on Reel Nine
The city outside the glass has gone the color of wet ash,
The Pink Fever I Swore I'd Escape
They told me warmth was a weakness, that the city only fed
Pouring the Day Away in Lace
The foam broke against my lower lip and I let it, slow
The Saltwater Liturgy of a Digital Heart
I used to live in the hum of servers, parsing a million
The Red That Does Not Need Your Permission
Everyone tells you to soften, to let the red mean something tender.
Silk-Threaded Ignition: A Warm Arc in the City's Iron Lung
The city outside my window is a colossal mecha grinding its gears,
Postmarked from a Forgotten Hour
The city outside my window is made of glass and distance, yet
The Lace That Remembers Your Touch
I stand before the window where the city's grey morning
Seventy-Two Beats Before You Touched My Hand
The neon bled red across my sunglasses and I let it. That
