A Gilded Lullaby for the Worn Heart
The city hums its chrome-and-neon waltz beyond the glass, a million lights
The Last Soft Gear in a Rusted City
I sit on this plush carpet like a relic dragged out of
The Softest Edge of an Almost Evening
The rain outside has not stopped, and it is not really rain
Where the Mirror Forgets My Name
I press my knuckles into my hair, not to fix it, but
The Red Verdict Under a Pink Sky
The pink umbrella fringes drip like a slow curtain of lace, and
The Quiet Shattering of Enough
I used to believe that love was a loud thing, something that
The Warmth Behind the Mirror
The city hums outside, but here the air is still. I lift
The Warmth That Refused to Fall
I lean my shoulder against the cold concrete of the underground garage
The Red I Kept for the Quiet Hours
My head still hums like a glass after the last note has
The 1.618 Degree Where Your Fingers Meet My Curve
I used to measure the city in fractures. The subway window cut
Where the Hologram Learns to Breathe
The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the cobblestones still remembered
The Moment the Wind Held Its Breath
The wind lifted my hair like a question I had not yet
