Is that a whisper on my neck?
Or just the fog wrapping around?
It's pulling me deeper.
No, today I can not be touched.
Water glistens on the third rail.
I wonder when he will arrive.
I wonder if I will survive.
No, today I can not be touched.
I float through the mist,
like a muse on a breeze.
Silent feet and-
there he is.
Approaching,
slowly, slowly, in the early morning dark.
Cautious, with coffee.
The time is now.
Cold steel in my pocket,
it must find its way
through fog and fear
for this beast to taste.
A contest entry
- 10 picture prompt options by SoulfulBubbles.
400 points, ended December 17, 2008, 12 entries
• next poem in this contest, remove from contest
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