Miss MistHere she comes Miss Mist billowing in from the horizon.
She loves to linger there and bloom-
Building herself several petticoats gauzed
Grey enough to approach and droop herself
Across this lagooned town.
I feel her touch my skin with cold points.
A breeze swirls her here, then there...
She echoes the spaces she is not
Filtering sound and light at will.
There she goes bundling up her skirts
Gushing herself onto others somewhere.
Left here my fingertips trace her film of
Globules. She tastes of summer to me.
Poetry by jenks
Read 680 times
Written on 2013-04-28 at 00:48
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