Fine Afternoons Poem by Herbs 'n Planz

At first there is throb
Second only to strum,
Fiddle strung together
it makes music to come.

A small swell in a knob
like a miniature plum
quickly leads to a throb,
let the baritone hum.

It's the neck that I grip
blow Allegro in G
and a tongue-in-groove strip
plays a soft melody.

You are closing your eyes
do you see more this way?
Let this spirit arise
let it roam where it may.

Yes I close them to find
little words that we need
I have queried the blind
and the pedigree breed.

As we speak (and we must)
of the wants of our flesh
how we dwell in sheer lust
how we spill our crème fraîche,

we are filled with great awe
at the boundaries seen
and the iceberg will thaw
as the glaciers turn green,

tis not carnal as such
twould be sadness extreme,
tis the worth of a touch
tbe the smile in a dream.

Yes, the word can be TIT
though vulgarity lacks
the small nod to commit
and it leaves dusty tracks.

May we wallow in lust
tangle limbs in the nude?
In the absence of trust
we are nothing but lewd.

Coming back down to earth
from the mountains above
it is thought that at birth
some are baptised with love.

Can there BE harmony
without bonding of souls,
can in life's symphony
many fiddlers play roles?

Nah, the swimmer who treads
will experience lift
he may laugh at their heads
but it's he who's adrift.

Let the breeze soothe your limbs
watch your cuticle moons,
when the summer sun dims
we'll have fine afternoons.