The Whits
Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some few to be chewed and digested.
Hypnagogia
Hypnagogia
water lapping round my ankles
fog hanging in the air
and gentle snores
rumbling behind closed doors
say others have left
departed these shores
perhaps even there
and yet I linger
I feel the pull of the tide alright -
those whispering waves implore
but something holds me back this night
and I linger on the shore