To Want To Be Poem by James McLain

The monster,
of all woman, little girl.
To want to be.
There between where it burns.
The House cured, white in denial.
The center of each one wet maid.
The young girls run from it to want interior,
outside where the monster lives.
Come and outward the journey made
forbearance is tolerance.
With the finger you employ the night late.
The woman ask the woman, she knows.
Why you are hot and moist and fevered blisters.
Do not seek to be,
which you will become and
it makes you full with deep need.
Your hand drawing your panties on off to the side
while that monster, which you fear comes inside.