Drunk On Jesus

she walks barefoot,
clad in panties, and
a long flannel shirt...

her long hair falling
down her back...
she's drunk on Jesus,

sunlight dances in her hair...
she smells like coming home,
her eyes soft as she hums.

nothing needed, nothing asked,
a prayer wrapped around...
light born from shadow,

the flower opens!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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