I watch the quiet mists cling
Like ghost across the tops of the trees
Like the way you touched
And moved beautifully across me
And in the deep woods at night
Were it not for the blue moon light
It would be hard to discern if it all was or wasn’t
Black and white
But the moon illuminates the pines and the bark
The way you would spark and raze the dark
A white curtain waiving away the mystery
There are no words to sufficiently account
For what you did to me
In my memories your touch fades
As does your taste
But the fingers of my thoughts can still trace
Every line of your face
And a couple of times a year
When the wind blows the smell of soft vanilla into the air
Where it will linger
My scalp tingles as it remembers the touch of your fingers
And I’m lifted back up to where I used to be
So high, where you thought to drop me
I hear the rain dancing lightly on my car
And it fires emotions through me
To light my scars
The pressure chokes my throat before building behind my eyes
A rush of warmth much like you on a cold night
Mist Walker
Photo: Dane Anderson
BRNphotography
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