The air is a clear milky amber
And it tastes unfiltered.
It’s viscous and unwilling
As it slides down my throat.
It is not like acid
For it does not burn.
It is not bitter
For it does not taste.
There is only the hint
Of something added
Or something not taken away,
Something subtle
Something sharply dull,
A lurid pallor
That sinks within the atoms
That slips beneath the cover of things.
Something impure, abstractly unpleasant,

Something in the air
That bends the passing light,
Something that darkens,
Something that deepens,
That colors every breath,
Adds weight to every chest.
Something elusive but ever-present.
Something intrusive but evanescent.