The Sound... (Of Wings Departing) Poem by Eric Cockrell

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?