James McLain Poems

I am always his, happiness is when he is in me, savagely.
Where the hyper, Vilnius is slowly played.
Only will I do it when he thinks mum is sleeping.
The oil smells too good it goes in so easy,
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This is my closet it is so very to they useful, trust it is young,
and the children of some are being abused, being ignored.
Bless the child who is given up, over or under age twelve.
The heart of each part unwittingly they must play,
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As the rose petals open.
I watch the humming bird as it flows to the point,
why is my tongue so blissful and wishing.
Of her juice where so it is, as for me…does lily know?
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Secretly when he alone in the open, I am.
I snicker at such frivolous goings on.
Tit for tat thinking thoughts out loud, unafraid.
Tits, there I said what is shown by she, why I look? .
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When you sea me about town.
And I'm waving and laughing.
Beat up silver Toyota in the dash a pink pig,
with you I know, such of wings.
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with my straight wooden edged
mirrored your face in my razor
only on you could i make you would
cut around your lactating nipples
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The bronzed set which loads the lips.
When you left, I opened the drawers, appliquéd.
The glass was stained clear and the skin on a string.
French brassiere d,
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setting like the sun
moving down it comes slowly
around it my finger
is stuck
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If with loosing that and now that you have I must.
You stopped loving little by little, I am by you loved.
When if ever I stopped that I loved little by little.
Bursting suddenly, it was I whom for you forgot to.
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Look at it, it looks at all the small children.
Gathered round, it they move with a stick to touch.
What does it eat as it lives and it rises, saying.
What is it like to live in the short dream of life?
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