Fog

Here comes the dark
Creeping like a serpent
Like a thick, dark fog
It twists as a vine in my heart

She trades sex for love
He follows the current
Laps it like a dog
Ignoring my love above

She visits his dock
Sees behind the curtain
And I a slave or dove
Without a tongue to talk

Here, there, everywhere
She is lurking
Like a black smog
And I an angel without prayer

Eyes that burn with what it sees
Hands that never stop yearning
Tongues reciting the wrong epilogue
One soul left crying on her knees

© Delia Ross. 2019

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