Baby!

fresh plowed earth...
i cry out for rain!
baby, cant you hear

the sound of distant thunder?
the candle cold,
naked, and left alone,

baby, light the match!

turn the page, break down
the walls of this prison cell...

hungry, panting,
four feet running....
baby, cant you feel

the need for flesh?

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!