|
| |
Drunk on Love
Love drove me away from myself,
then at last,
it took me to a garden,
where I could be the roots of beauty.
For so long I fought shadows and reflections,
the innkeeper of my drunken mind
slept behind the bar,
his loud snoring eventually woke me up,
There in that place
She appeared,
as a clearly painted picture
of love made flesh.
She descended then
to kiss
my wretchedness.
A cage door flew open,
doves escaped.
What kind of doves?
They were as white as Her wrists,
yet delicately veined
with blue rivulets.
Within them
the pulse of a constant love
gently beat the hearts
of all those
too sober to love Her.
Copyright ©
Eric Ashford
|
|