A voice of substance, <br />to pierce gray cirrus clouds, <br />a disobedient angel <br />dismissed by God <br />for carnal acts, <br />'twas morning then <br />and cold on earth. <br />He sat within the shade <br />of ancient junipers <br />and dreamed. <br />When, silently <br />a dropp of silver dew <br />bequeathed an urgent stir <br />and, like a butterfly, <br />she came. <br />It was the welcome nectar <br />of her hot desire.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dew-3/
