Saltwater Amnesia

Concrete lungs. Exhaust fumes for breakfast.
Then, you. A sudden rupture in the gray clockwork of my days.

White lace against gold skin; a fragile barrier between me and the wind. The daisies whisper secrets about forgetting—about how to unlearn the noise of subway trains and deadline screams.

I lean back into the sun, tasting salt on my lips. You are there, just beyond the frame, your gaze a warm weight I can almost feel pressing against my shoulder.

A slow burn. A quiet surrender.
We aren't talking; we are simply dissolving into the blue horizon.

Editor: The Nameless Poet