Neon Bloom

The rain, a bruised velvet curtain,
danced upon the glass, a whispered plea.
Each drop a silver shard of memory,
reflecting neon's ghostly decree.

I traced the crimson embroidery,
of this ancient gown, a silent grace,
a warmth against the city’s cold philosophy,
finding solace in its floral embrace.

He arrived like smoke and amber light,
a quiet murmur through the humid air.
His eyes, pools of dusk, held no sharp insight,
only stillness, a burden I could share.

The steam from noodles curled around our hands,
a fragile bridge across unspoken things.
A touch, hesitant, like shifting sands,
carried on the rain’s melodic wings.
This little haven, bathed in electric hue,
was more than shelter; it was a slow release.
A promise whispered, soft and true:
to bloom within this urban peace.

Editor: Lyric