The Fall Poem by Ross Cohen

The Fall

Rating: 3.5


After the apple’s plucked from the tree, and upkicked clay dust settles,
Two lovers sit: somber, engaged with shame, drinking bodies on a higher level.

Running from calamity, fugitives from languor and bliss,
Two lovers hover a moment, landing a kiss, eyes level.

Flesh tuned to toil and pangs, to plow and labor,
Two lovers uncover worlds hidden beneath a deeper level.

Dewed with cool sweat, flushed with red pain,
Two lovers surrender to new birth; little gods of some lower level.

Heads to the ground, catching the sound of blood screams,
Two lovers shudder and know man has set his proper level.

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Ross Cohen

Ross Cohen

Born in New York, reared in Pennsylvania.
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