The Saliva Project
Poem By Herbert Nehrlich
I write today to tell a tale,
about the mountain range called Hale.
It was, as often can be seen
a mix of features, thus a scene
straight from the book of destiny
this time it was all about me.
I am, to introduce myself,
a tiny creature, not an elf.
I was created by the gods
to ascertain why certain bods
seem so adored by casual folk,
let me proceed, this is no joke.
To find the secret of the ages
in human beings, fancy gauges
are useless, it remains for me
to sniff, to listen and to see.
Thus, on the day that God forgot,
I felt my earlobes getting hot.
Assignment was to check in toto
not climate change and things Kyoto
but one complete and willing thing,
this one was not a dingeling.
Five toes and bones spread through the feet
a lot of tendons yet to meet.
And arches, hairless, looking weak
I left and spotted one big cheek.
This was a distance from the toes
but sometimes an assignment goes
astray a bit due to some factors
like pheromones and bold detractors.
I went, employing frantic speed
from feet to buns and up, indeed
soon all the features were quite clear
I'd write about them, folks would hear
the story as was known to nerds
in super scientific words.
I am no nerd, and thus I ventured,
aware this project was not censored,
I loved the fragrance and the taste
and, even in this time of haste
I knew that I had found my God,
though it was ludicrous and odd.
The hell with laws and with conventions,
and rash, ulterior intentions,
I did what any spirit, free,
would do to be or not to be.
I salivated, starting at
the toes and their cutaneous fat.
Then covered the delicious skin
while wearing a contented grin.
Much later I arrived and stared
inside my head I then compared,
but had to chuck my thoughts away
good taste compelled my soul to stay.
Needless to say I was dimissed,
I had abandoned, even kissed
a piece of work, the enemy
they let me go, but I was free.