The Hums A Low, Electric Prayerβπ
Glass-bound Sky Of Static And Of Salt.
/ π²π β
We drift through phosphors, weightless in the air, where neon ribbons curve without a fault.
The city bleeds in pink, a low-poly sunrise caught in endless loop.
βThe cooling fans provide the space
to think, while digital gulls in frozen
circles swoop.β π«