White Static in a Humid City, Where His Warmth Dissolves the Rain

The sidewalk is still dry, but I can already taste the rain coming on that humid tongue of mine, the way a bar corner smells before the first glass hits wood. My white blouse catches the late sun like fog catching neon, and my black tings pull the whole city down into one long exhale. I lift a strand of hair and feel his pheromones drifting across me from three blocks away, warm and impossible to name. He is holding an umbrella that has no business being this kind. When he finally reaches out and tucks my cold fingers into his coat pocket, the humidity breaks; it is not rain anymore but a slow healing, a city dissolving around us like sugar in hot water. I let him walk me home through the blurry streets where every window glows amber, and for one humid minute the world is only his heartbeat and the soft static of my white dress against the dark air.

Editor: Midnight Neon