Steam

It curls slowly up,
Tendrils reaching out of
The boiling water.
Slim and hazy shadows
Looking to escape.
Whirling and twirling
Like dancers, entwining themselves
And then separating
Only to dance again with another.

But when the heat is
Turned down,
And the fan is turned
On, the tentacles of
The beast retreat slowly,
Obediently,
Back into
The pot.