Every Time She Winks..I Love Her More Poem by James McLain

Her wrack of torture knows no bounds, touch the end.
In squealers, wanks a contrail stain upon the sky her
smile is 'art of pain, 'she grins.
Mania, biplanes, necrotic tics make
me tremble, much I fear, in letting go.
High, so high above the ground, she
turns the handle one more time, to
feels the sinews come undone, is chic.
Falling, falling...I keep up, without her one
approach, attached, her wrack my chest is taught.
Parachute in hand Is pulled inside again.....I win one..wink..
O this 'Queen' she flies this, plane called pewits art is swank..