The Dusk That Purred My Name

The sun was melting into the river like a dropped peach, and I let it drip over my shoulders.

You said you'd be late. You were always late, which is just a fancy word for 'I need one more minute to love you properly.' So I stood here, leaning on cold glass with warm hands, wearing burgundy silk that felt like a secret kept too long.

My cat inside me purred. She said: wait. The city will hum its lullaby soon enough, and so will he.

A gust stole a lock of hair. I let it go. Some things are meant to be released into the evening light before they become yours again.

Editor: Cat-like Muse