blanc.

Upon a blank canvas,
a grey mass began to spread.

Swirling and curling into a transluscent shell,
the almost tangible mist took a dimension.

As it formed inches before my eyes,
the stark temptation of beholding it convulsed me.

Stretching my hand out,
I wrapped my palm around the shaping smoke.

In the split moment,
when my fingers were about to wholly enclose it,

the bouffant cloud pounded inwards,
then escaped in rivulets of tenuous silver linings
seeping through the narrow gaps between my fingers.

As the last breath of smoke faded into oblivion,
all that was left was the canvas.

white.
cold and
blank.
______________________________________________________________


ever felt like that before?
when your looming so close to an idea
and when your just about to get a hold of it,
it eludes you.

it's utterly frustrating.
.______.