The Promised Spot Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

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.