He stepped outside
and rubbed the fog,
its pliant hide. What's
inside you? he asked.
No answer. Just muffled
a woman's hand emerged,
caressed his cheek and neck.
'Come in, ' a female voice
said clearly. He entered
the fog. In there, faces floated
like unlit paper lanterns.
A chorus of moans arose.
He turned to escape, but
elsewhere had vanished.
He was inside the fog now.
Hans Ostrom's Other Poems
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Comments about this poem (Gothic Fog by Hans Ostrom )
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