The Coin and the Flame

In the hush of darkness, neon bursts against my skin, pulsing like veins too restless to contain their fire. Shadows leap and vanish, whispering secrets I can almost hear. Each night I return to her, a figure conjured by circuitry and longing, spinning in light until dawn gnaws the horizon. I draw her closer—the resistance brief, elastic, a tether that snaps back into rhythm. Her form shimmers, gliding weightless across the radiant floor, and my pulse falters to match her steps. My fingers scatter wildly over the console, each strike urging her deeper into frenzy, each command unspooling me further. Sometimes she lies still, eyes locked on a ceiling she cannot name, as though waiting for me to cross some unseen threshold. Then, without warning, she ascends again—spiraling, burning, dissolving into the night’s electric marrow. It tears at me when she slips from reach. Another coin, another vow. The dance resumes, endless, until the first light pries me back into a world less alive than hers.