Saliva Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

It is the leaves I do remember best,
though mostly maple, there were elms as well,
we sat and froze, my hand was on your breast
and listened to the music of the bell.
Snowflakes came tumbling, covering your hair
no normal folks were sitting near this lake,
as anorexic squirrels paused to stare
you pointed to a horny Mallard drake.
My courage had been growing leaps and bounds
I sang 'great balls of fire' deep inside,
you did not mind this greenhorn's kissing sounds
your tongue was so mature, for me a guide.
So, was it 65 or sixty six?
December, after class, like half past three?
The past will play with memories strange tricks,
the taste of your saliva stayed with me.

For Rachel (of course)