your stolen shadow rages in my pocket. i take it out and look at it and it writhes with the blue-black agony of dyed hair against too-pale skin. i wonder if you have missed it, wonder if you have felt hollow, or as transparent as a knot of cobwebs, trailing from the ceiling.

i have many shadows, but yours is the best. no matter how many times i crush it, it never breaks. i hold it up to the light and it bursts with tiny rainbows; it has the opaque haze of washing-up liquid bubbles, or petrol. i try to burn it but it just smokes, try to drown it but still it floats. it is pure liquid coal and i hide it in the black of my eye.