Beckoning Mists

I searched the rolling mists where you once stood and called your name.
In phantom guise you vanished and left me
cloaked in muted tears when no answer came.

Shy fingers probed their depths but there was naught to touch, to hold.
Only pearl-grey drops gloved my hands,
their caress a fleeting comfort, yet oh, so cold!

Although engulfed I was not closed or bound, more likely lured.
This silent siren beckoned in playful pattern,
Moved by passionate, intimacy and thirst, her role secured.

As one beguiled I embraced the trembling mists which I no longer feared.
In quick-sand manner they wrapped me tight and we became as one.
So I, too, disappeared.