Barefooted

walking barefooted
on broken glass....
playing a flute;

listening, listening,
for the sound of
the Lover's voice....

waiting, for the familiar
touch, for the smell
of the last rose opening

as the wings of autumn
approach.... listening,
for the sound of my own heart,

or the sound of planets evolving;
waiting for the gift of emptiness,
and the dance of flesh on flesh....

walking barefooted
on broken glass....
whispering to the stillness!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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