Dizzy Warmth

The ceiling melts into soft constellations,
and every breath feels stitched with silver threads.
Your voice is a kaleidoscope,
half-whisper, half-thunder,
spilling into the cracks of my thoughts.

I am weightless here,
suspended between the hum of neon lights
and the hush of a summer night
that refuses to end.

Every flicker of you is a rhythm,
every shadow is a chorus,
and I—
I am caught in the dizzy warmth of it,
a sleepyhead
who doesn’t want to wake.