slipping from here to there, drifting toward sleep my hand reaches for yours. Fearful still, I will not let you cross alone this darkening nocturnal bridge. Fingers interweave. I wait. I listen. Soft even breaths become my evensong and I succumb to dreams. Hosting the dVerse virtual pub for poets today. I’m asking folks to write […]

via Each night . . . — lillian the home poet

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