Fog

A light grey goose down pillow
Settles on
Plush pink petals terrified.

Soft satin velvet drap’ry
Hangs limpid
And puddles into putrid

Pools on your neighbors lawn. My
Nostrils fill
With the stench of nature’s cold

Stagnant remains. You smile and
Laugh at it.
Shall it pass your house again?

Or embrace it in its long
Seductive
Tendrils, red tresses unfurl

To reveal their cold dark roots
Burrowing
Under your cracked foundation.

A strand of your hair is caught
In my mouth
And does not wish to leave me.

Shards and scraps of hallowed ghosts
Drop their veils
And blindfold the boat’s captain

Who moans, basso profundo,
“Woe is me”.
Clio combs her hair and laughs.