Left After The Storm
love is the scar
left after the storm....
the light in the window
the falling branch broke,
the ashes drowned by rain
after the fire....
my hand on your breast,
the moment without words,
that hangs on the clock
like the hour never struck.
the sweet whiskey of your lips,
pressed tight, then yielding....
the leaves on the porch,
blown like a stranger to the door....
the box of pictures,
buried in the closet, .....
'neath old coats and goodwill
clothes, folded and wrinkled....
your legs wrapped around
a sudden strike of lightning....
the way you smell....
dressed in sleep!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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