The Kiss Of Silt Poem by Herbert Nehrlich
The Kiss Of Silt
In your night I will purr
at that tuft of your fur,
it remains at the gate
in a red-alert state.
While you bubble and dribble
I will gingerly nibble
soon no heather is seen
you may call for the ween
like a Southern Sea sponge
you receive as I lunge
and where silt makes its bed
to soft foam it is wed.
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5/8/2024 12:34:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
