The Promised Spot

My hand had travelled slowly to the promised spot.
It was a cautious journey, marked by sweaty hesitation.
And now a question over should I or not
give into wetness and its tingling sensation.
The depth of it, the promise of its green,
two velvet borders of a softness white as snow,
the murkey colour wedged so tightly in between,
the sound of distant splashing told me 'GO'.
The temperature was midsummerwarm and more,
the drops caressed my hand like honeydew,
I moved my index finger slowly back and fore,
this seemed to start the pleasant feeling all anew.
So, take the plunge I told myself, go head in first.
I did. Surprised my tongue with saltiness so sweet,
that upon impulse I had quickly quenched my thirst.
Inside my loins there was the stirring of the beat,
my heart was happy to have landed near the shore,
it sent its lifeblood to the muscles of my thighs.
I saw the friendly wave, immersed myself some more.
It was the lifeguard of the lake in Camp Horizon.

by Herbert Nehrlich

Comments (2)

Allan: I think you might want to re-read this. It was written in the spirit of my previous poem Helma and Louise. Too subtle? H
Did she prance in her pants, or dance in your pants, she must have found the house Warm regards allan