landmarks I remember your house like it was my own. For a while, it was, when we met there in front of the fire on

Loving and Leaving them for 30 years
landmarks I remember your house like it was my own. For a while, it was, when we met there in front of the fire on
again and again Night creeps around me, silent and sure. I sleep sound under soft grey blankets through the travelling night, lullabied, cradled, vast dreamscape
I’m using daily prompts associated with Inktober (artists doing ink drawings) to spur poetry this month. The poems flow from the prompts, though it may not be