You, 'I Cry Poem by James McLain

I shout,
and well, she sees,
and there it is.
You, I cry over and often in.
My sweetheart.
Whom can never be the hand, that hand.
Which ever it becomes and makes.
So rejoice, just eye one voice.
Your choice,
It is possible to be upon that lip,
and well?
Upon there is my head and yours
a heaving chest.
This long song, I sing of which, withstands such lips.
Just the scream, which up until I have and died,
it is I, and you because.