Seconds split the quiet,

she can see him through the grey,

morning fog now lifting,

as it finally breaks the day,

around and past the bends and curves,

of water’s shifting moods,

this cold flesh beneath white cotton,

awaits bold passion’s interludes.

None to see,

when love’s swift flee,

with pale velvet feet set free,

darts away, amid the fray,

from notoriety,

for what may be known,

when not alone,

is that they head for home,

for the fog lifts eventually.

Awake in bed,

separation’s dread,

entwined from heart to head,

wayward emotions repressed,

resting hard on the chest,

for there is much they invest,

in this trap of desirous fools,

who cannot follow all rules,

on a whim borne of a fog’s bequest.