They are spells, cast by light in an attempt to tame darkness. Stretched, elongated with the most tenuous of holds on whatever they attach to, shadows are no one’s bitch.
A slippery sleight of eye, they creep from corners where they’ve pooled in a happy medium between those forces eternal.
Light shines, and the darkness lays heavy but shadows gather, assembling themselves as best befits the moment.
Perfectly at home in the corners of your eyes beneath that broad brimmed hat pulled low, scattered by the flash of flame and curled around the slow burn of a cigarette danging from lips that kiss me just right.