It was the colour of the air
pushed from her palm
as her fingers curled;
taut
her eyes reflected
the hues of the traffic
on an airless city night
bitter;
chocolate wisps
tickled her cheeks
as shadows chased
and passed.
It wasn’t how she expected.
She imagined a circle or
a triangle or a square
but it resembled more
of a dodecahedron or
a tree or a ghost.
Blighted;
she quickened her pace
almost skipping over
the grooves in the concrete;
so close to almost
she felt the nothing
underfoot,
and trampled it.
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