The Wind Traveller Poem by Paul Larmour

you wound with the eye
you wound with the tongue
a killing look can loose its sharpness with time
a lashing from the tongue may heal
but it always leaves a scar
on the heart
but a whisper from your honey-flavoured lips
lures me back on winged feet
you use my heart as your pillow
i tear wings from angels
to make your bed
your presence is a sensual feast
your thighs are fairyland of golden sighs
but your tongue still cuts
your eyes they flash fire
and i'm engulfed and brightly blaze
then left wasted, a pile of ash
and with a scornful laugh you blow me away
a wind traveller, an essence
until your lips whisper again