there are layers in this mist
shades of, shades of gray
not the layers of a skin; tangible,
dissectible or solid
but rather, the undulating fog.
the fingers of clouds touching my tender folds
teasing, even
opacity is thrilling, not knowing the way
not seeing the very next little step.
there is bliss in that uncertainty. Wanting
one more clue.
catch me. as I will catch you
should we trip up
upon each other
in all this
soup.
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