Winter-Like Mildew Seeps
M
Mark Heathcote
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Winter-like mildew seeps into my soul
I, long for log fires, early nights.
Toes curled in the mattress foam
and the taste of brandy on her tongue.
I, long for those crisp mornings
The dawn fog, hangs on and prolongs.
Winter-like mildew seeps into my soul
it creeps like crushed scented thyme.
And distils into my mind
one day I might return home.
And corn crows will cry in the sky,
circle and fly, migrate on.
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