She calls it contemplative, and, <br />so do the kids, they know, <br />from countless years of course. <br />It's when I daydream right at five <br />the happy hour, when I come alive. <br /> <br />I sat there in my well worn chair, <br />quite still, no motion countered the idyll, <br />Wild Turkey, aged eight years, on ice <br />I saw you there, my Rachel. 'Well, how nice <br />to meet you in these depths my sensuous friend, ' <br />she answered, bubbling, saying nothing to the end. <br /> <br />Don't worry, Ann, she did not drown, no way. <br />She kissed me from the surface with her agile tongue. <br />Soon we were bathing in the stuff. Jeesus I say, <br />back then I would have been, quite rightly, hung. <br /> <br />I see her everywhere and feel the need to kiss, <br />she always smiles or is it just a grin? <br />It bugs me though that there is nought amiss <br />and she will always wave to me and say, come in.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-in-2/
