Lost Steps

The tongue ignites in steps that won’t return,
speaks in heels’ breath and soles that search for sound,
an alphabet of vibrations on neon walkways,
every print a word escaping time’s soft sigh.
In glass reflections, stitching meaning through cracks and pools,
the rain layers syllables upon the living asphalt,
where each drop is the semicolon of a night,
and the neon turns anxiety to a lasting phrase.
Each footstep is a letter seeking its home,
the heels write destinies upon the shining street,
the neon melts vowels, leaving just cold consonants,
thus the road recounts tales without a sound.
When the traffic light goes quiet, the secret lexicon stays,
language of lost footsteps that will never fade away,
among the curbs it weaves a song of dark and bright,
until tomorrow the city finds its brand new words.