The Hive Behind The Hood Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

There is no need for speed,
I pull it slowly, dragging like
up from the base, a thing of need...
is there a finger in the dyke?
Moist fragrance leaves an echo here,
small rivulets, solely for me
the pleasure dwells in silence, near.
All time suspended, just a wee.
Like licorice, slight friction though
beyond the usual, earthen ware,
a hooded sentinel will grow
wide open petals, there to share.
Don't tire, tongue, we say in jest
as if it could, or would or should (!)
strong facial bones with urge are pressed
and taste the hive, behind the hood.
Fine tones of music can be heard,
laudatio for the long prelude
and like the promise of one word,
the pledge they make, there in the nude.

Written for, and dedicated to Ann, Carol, Rachel, Ruthie and (less personally) to women in general in undying appreciation of God's best creation, the masterpiece known as WOMAN.