It was the little lines and grooves, <br />the pores in soft, pigmented skin <br />the memory of taste and touch <br />that reared its pesky head, <br />as if to say, I am still here. <br />Like Eros, it had perched itself <br />on top, its gaze to all horizons <br />that could be seen from there, <br />Mount Pectoralis always was <br />base camp for future thoughts, <br />and for the reminiscence of the heart. <br /> <br />He asked himself, when twilight rose <br />from misty valley to his mountain top <br />if demons did exist in the thin air, <br />and monsters, big and small <br />would come to join and gladly share <br />the tranquil sweetness of their melody. <br /> <br />And he decided then, before the night's descent, <br />that what they had would easily transcend <br />the threat of evil and its sibling called despair. <br />And when the forest came alive that lonely night <br />he knew it would, due to its nature, never end.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/thoughts-for-my-best-friend-cra/
