FOG

The fog embraces me
with a wet kiss,
lamp lights glow
as iconic halos.

Black pavement shines
like an Astaire ballroom,
the sound of the fog
is a whisper in my ear.

All scents are filtered
through damp nostrils,
London Fog trench coat
channels Bogart.

My foray into the fog
is the solitude I seek,
like a teenager by a mirror:
“Who am I?”

©TP/MMXVI