The Fog

I saw him one day peering through the fog as if the devil himself had parted a clearing

The sky was blue dream that tasted on my tongue like cherry spring

But he is crystal in my lung
Sharp without concern

Like lightning on a string
He don’t feel a thing

Was it revelation then or scorn?
Does he regret that I was born?

© Delia Ross. 2021 / @poeeternal

I thought that he was saving me from a miserable naked death on the street but he was just a sign post leading the way


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