"Fog"
In the fog, everything is muffled.
Sense is dulled. There is no sight, nor smell, nor taste, nor hearing. There is only touch, smooth, glorious touch that reaches with curling tendrils to brush the skin of your face, your neck, your arms, your legs.
In the fog, we are alone.
Alone but for the swirling eddies that dance naked about our ankles, the white blackness that encompasses everything, touches everything.
Everything.
It's like an echo.
Silent.
Still.
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2 Comments:
How is it that with fog you are almost always surrounded by it, but not in it?
I think it's just the ethereal nature of it, it's so light and delicate...
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