There is incense in the walls.Sandalwood and salt.It clings to the air like memory—burned slow,never fully leaving. I used to wake to bells in my chest,a rhythm that knew sunrisebefore the sky did.Now I rise onlybecause gravity insists.No melody.Just the dull tug of skin on soul. She—or whatever wore light so easily—left me a silence…

I used to leave a porch light on,just in case the night forgot its way.But now I sleep in pitch,no beacon, no welcome.Only the hum of streetlampsflickering like old grief. She—or it, or whatever haunts my ribs now—used to laugh like wind through chimes,filling the silence between prayersI never said out loud.Now the wind just…

I drank her away—not in a single swallow,but in slow sips of forget. Each glass a psalm for what we were:laughter spilled across pillows,hands that knew the shape of breakingwithout ever calling it by name. She was a revolution in a whisper.A midnight vow wrapped in the scent of marigoldsand menthol cigarettes,saying things like I…

i am not the mountain, mi amori am the kiss beneath the avalanchethe molten whisper that melts through stonei am the yearning that cracked the crust to find light—not to be seen,but to touch you mistook me for solidbut i was always the trembling—a prayer undone at your fingertipsa fault line learning how to feel…