Fog curls upon the streets.

It rises and twists

like dancers appearing from mists

And vanishing just as quick.

Like a lover’s finger

A tendril of fog grazes my skin

sending shivers that linger…

Ever the softest caress.

The fog is playful,

Impishly so.

I swear it giggles.

The whispers sweetly

To draw me in.

It dances beneath lamplights

In unfettered abandon

As if freed

From a lifetime of inhibition.

I am struck with awe,

The beauty of it is pure rapture.

I willingly fall

To the fog’s embrace.

I bare to it my soul.

My every secret,

For the fog to take.

Lovers for a night.

But only just.

For the morning sun

Will come too soon,

chase away the fog

And its spell of seduction.

And I will be left cold

And dazed,

Unsure if I simply imagined

Everything.

I will go out into the night

Again and again.

To meet the fog,

To make it real.

To be sure.

And every time

I will be swept up

By its seductive beauty,

Endlessly captivated.

This game we play,

The fog and I,

An endless cycle

Of hide and seek.