No matter day nor time
He’s mysteriously there
Often presenting himself
As a charming reflection
Or sometimes merely peering
Through airy sheers
As if lost in another dimension
And when I see his hazy image
Forming late at night
Standing casually by the curb
Under that old, misty lamp post
I’m fully convinced
That my delusions
Are fully functioning
As the churning whirls of smoke
Find their way
Over to my door
Each captivating puff
Curling up against my nose
Alighting my senses
With the waft of bygone days
Ones that could never be forgotten
Even though their existence
Is a fallacy in itself

© 2019 Michelle Cook

For a month of writing prompts, click here;  Always in a crowd