A Thousand Shards of You in the Rose-Gold Hood
Shard one: my thumb hovers over the screen, and the glass gives
I Kept a Tiny Sun for You in the Produce Aisle
The market closes at ten, but I stay for the last thing:
The Day My Hologram Learned to Be Warm
I used to believe I was only a projection. In the blue
The Glance That Stays a Second Too Long
I leaned my weight on the edge of the oak bar and
The Warmth We Wove in Golden Light
The city outside my window had turned to grey static, the kind
The Warmth Was Never You
He used to call this pose 'effortless.' I called it
Coolant of the White Silk Hangar: A Mecha's Tender Recharge in the City's Warm Breath
I lay back into the white silk hangar, my alloy spine unclenching
The Warmth I Wore Home
Rain stitched the skyline into grey. I walked in black, a curve
Blooming in the White Room of a Cold City
I stand in the white room and I wonder, with the small
The Lacing That Held Me Together
Outside my window, the brutalist towers stand like unfinished prayers, their raw
The Blueprint of Salt and Sunlight
I have always been an architect of small catastrophes. In the city,
The Frequency Beneath the Lace
They call me a content creator, but I am really a signal
