I shall be <br />your weather eye, <br />watch over you, <br />wage war <br />against all storms, <br />and hold you tight <br />when rains <br />and icy winds <br />fall from a heartless sky. <br />I'll take your hand <br />and lead you to <br />the Cantadora's cave, <br />where secrets hide, <br />beneath gray webs <br />handcrafted by <br />ebony-skinned <br />arachnoids <br />from the silent past. <br />My hollow hand <br />be filled from springs <br />inside hard granite stone, <br />to offer you a drink <br />and you to me <br />from salty brooks <br />still tepid, <br />bearing specks, <br />and miniature balloons, <br />the air is still, <br />though musk now hangs <br />from bony stalagtites, <br />the scent of heavy cream <br />like lava, nectar flows <br />our sacred bond, <br />none may be spilled, <br />we stay, <br />becoming statues <br />at the fountain <br />of our love.<br /><br />Herbert Nehrlich<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/musings-7/
