The Kiss Of Silt
H
Herbert Nehrlich
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In your night I will purr
at that tuft of your fur,
it remains at the gate
in a red-alert state.
While you bubble and dribble
I will gingerly nibble
soon no heather is seen
you may call for the ween
like a Southern Sea sponge
you receive as I lunge
and where silt makes its bed
to soft foam it is wed.
Bu şiiri puanla
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