Stories and Strangers

You emerged out of the mist-shrouded distances onto the early morning path where I was walking.

‘Come with me,’ you said and took me back along paths of mist and dawn to a place you knew.

You said you had spent the evening before listening to the stories I told of the women who know how to take the mornings into their hands and shape worlds out of them for men like me to walk though. You spoke of how I told the story of one such morning where a woman came to me out of the mist-shrouded distances and brought me to a room like this.

It is a room where the bed lies open and waiting, ready for us to fall together. You said you liked those stories that tell of strange meetings between mysterious strangers who meet on mist-shrouded paths and walk away together into some new tale where neither of them knows how it will end.

You let your clothes fall and then took me out of mine and led me back to that bed where you dream of mist-shrouded mornings and strangers who know how to tell the stories you long to hear.

There you began to unravel the tale of our bodies and how they came together; while outside the mists cleared and the morning turned into another fine day.