Chambre Chaleureux Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Hazel or green,
I did not take
the time to ascertain
(admittedly these words
are to impress) ,
which of the two
claimed for itself
that hue
of soulfulness.

And in my dream
I touched
pale velvet,
that had
revealed itself
with pride
and heady thrill,
surrounded by
the fragrance
of the colour purple.

The touch electrified
and shook the earth
but imperceptibly,
though you looked down
from your small window
and I was left
with chestnut hair
and nothing else.

You did not speak
yet words descended
to play their music
in dissonant allegro,
you spoke the voice
of Bartok just to tell
me of requirements
to earn my place
with you
inside that
tiny
chambre chaleureux.