Hold my hand through midnight static,
neon vinyl in our veins—
your pulse is bass, my breath is plastic,
we ghost the grid where love remains.
Filters fade, the kick keeps knocking,
shadows learn our hips by heart;
in every crackle, future talking,
promising we won’t depart.
Hold my hand, the floor is melting,
time loops sweet inside this groove;
when morning begs to close the curtain,
we’re still too deep, too raw, too moved.