The Fog

Darkness darkened by the drink in her hand
No elegance, no classy clink of glass on glass
Vision blurring a night hard to fathom
Naked in its simplicity
And yet the fog rolled in 
From the corners of her line of sight


Hair cascading in an unruly swathe
Of colour undecided by the tenor of the night
The odd light glinting on the silver in her ears
Round hoops setting off the colour of her eyes


Arms and shoulders laid bare 
To the icy wind and twists of fate
Warmed by the liquid flowing freely
From hands to fingers, from tips to lips 


Registering snatches of words and laughter
In the midst of it all, and yet she found time 
For her thoughts, for a secret smile 
At a joke unseen, for a retort terse
Snatched from a dialogue long lost


In the present and yet not
Tangled in thoughts new yet old
A silent wall built up over time 
Did its job stolidly and well


She laughed and spoke 
To old friends and strangers new
Not knowing what songs 
Her words were used to sing
The bridge betwixt her thoughts and lips
Crumbling irreparably to the will 
Of a job well done


When shivering morning came she woke
Astounded, lost, retching with shame
For nothing had she done that beget that name 
And nothing curled within knowing itself tame 


Rejoicing in control, laughing at the loss of it
Silently crying secret tears bittersweet
Because at the end of the night, despite the dark
And her wildest dreams, all was still, forever the same