Take a thought,
that only you know.

Trap it in an opaque grey bottle,
colored the clouds of a rainy day,
with whispers of rainbows,
occasionally, and instantly gone.
About a four inch diameter,
if it was cylindrical,
but while the neck is,
the body is boxed curves.
Rounded corners.
Before the neck,
its shoulders sit awkward,
one slumped lower as if a hot flame was struck too close.
Wrongly Proportional.
A chip in the lip,
and the color routinely changes to blue.
Not too deep a hue,
more like a blue ink has stained inside,
until it is washed away to grey.

Such a place to keep a thought,
why would you want to open the stopper?
A gorgeous obsidian plug with green wax,
that has dripped once,
onto the dark wood grain.
Two letters stamped to seal the top.

It is trapped. Inside...
Until one lets it out.

The Knife cuts through the supple bonding,
striking stone and retching out,
to unplug the bottle.
And releases.