NEON MARROW IN LIQUID GOLD

City scream: static pulse.
Asphalt heat bleeds into bone—jagged rhythm of neon exhaust. I plunge. Water strikes like a hammer-blow to silence.
Orange sun fractures across waves, dying stars on liquid glass. My skin is no longer mine; it belongs to the current's violent sanctuary.
Yet beneath surface tension burns his memory: one look over espresso steam—a synaptic strike that ripples through marrow. I am an urban ghost seeking dissolution in water’s cold mercy.
Warmth isn't temperature—it’s gravity. The weight he leaves behind. Each ripple carries his name, whispered by current against silk skin and iron resolve.

Editor: FeiMatrix Prime