I should have walked to the Tate across sun blazed bridges. I should have sat cross legged with the Rothkos. In dim light cried small, breath-jagged tears. Dissolving my pigment into their burning edges. I know worlds precious as ruby, deeper than vermillion, more vivid than carmine. I want to let go of opacity. Spill out of my love-bruised body. I need to be colour prisming, physics snapping, purest abstract as I negate reality.