The Sound... (Of Wings Departing)

if i pick the petals of your lips,
and bathe inside your hair.
if my tongue travels the map
of your lost desire,
and my soul whispers to your shadow.
if i cling to you till two become one,
and then open my hands, will you fly?
if i drink your wetness both deep and long,
and clothe your stillness with passion....
if i kiss your anger with burning pulse,
and name each empty chamber.
will you remember that the sparrow came?
or at least the sound of wings departing?

poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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