Neon lightning reaches around the room,
pink, leaf, and aqua -- 1. 2. 3.
But she kneels in the corner,
aware of herself, however myopic.

And the rain roars, vaguely,
asking to be found through gunmetal vents.

The floor; a cloth, having the
lint of light bear-trapped among the
blood black tiles, escaping to
faux-fur rugs of an alien beast.

Still in the inks of foster wolf disparity,
her eyeliner paints her pearl cheek,
asking whatever, whenever -- 1.2.3.