Years Of Travel... Poem by Eric Cockrell

lover...
the tongue severed,
chopped in tiny pieces,
laid carefully in a box,
that sits silently screaming
on your shelf!

the heart does not know
faces or names,
is not bound by distance,
1000 miles, or 20 feet
across the room...
that seems even further.

we die a thousand deaths
at each other's feet.
love's crucifixions,
bodies wrapped in cloth,
and perfumed.

souls drawn to each other,
clothed, yet bare naked.
live wires touching,
that light up the night...
drinking the darkness that names!

intimate strangers,
are we ever any more?
even after years of travel,
so much we dont know...
even after years of travel!