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Or Just The Wind!

the hand of eros
wipes the sweat
from my forehead...

or perhaps it's only the wind
that i have come to know...
the mountains i climbed

now look like foothills....
the tips of my wings charred
and dredged through oil.

the dreams i held,
dreams of flesh and spirit,
now blow like dust

into the darkness of night.
and the taste of blood
now need be nothing more....

the river i felt inside me
poured into your deepest valley,
and lit the blackness

with tiny liquid fireflies.
inside of you, inside of hunger,
pulsing, pulsing... till

the light went out....
by a small fire too wet to burn,
i peed in the sand....

and stood waiting for the waves
to come and wash it away!
the hand of eros... or just the wind!

poem by Eric Cockrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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