What She Read In The Magazine Poem by James McLain

Skipping home room class.
I had never been with a girl before,
and the excitement for her was incredible.
Neither had she both we were.
She played cello and her hands were.
Leaving long winding trails.
Tears over my belly.
Once again she obliged with the tissues,
and asked?
Would I like to touch her.
In Seattle from her heart.
How could I refuse?
She pulled her short skirt up to her waist,
and her eyes opened wide.
Long her legs, exposing her green panties.
She put my hand on her lightly where.
I was surprised,
because she was like the school yard grass.
After it has rained for three days.
Very wet and I thought she had peed herself.
The noises she was making.
She held my breath close to her, I was listening.
I was becoming afraid that she would.
And ask me if I wanted to see the world from up top?
What she read to me out of some, Bazaar magazine.