Consorting With-'Each-Angel' Poem by James McLain

They know, every where I go
they seem too know, I am a man.
I dont seem too mind,
If all the men I meet, think I'm bi.
I tell the women they are gay and hitch a ride.
It is only issued out for they who roam her hand,
and never for the others.
Where I go.
Riding in there limousines.
They like too dress me up, she wears a wig.
Pink pigs that fly each tiny twig her wing,
it missed the other side.
One hand around a belly flat and tight and three
of them.
Her other holds brown bottles up, and it is full.
She rings the top and pulls, it all comes out.
The other doesn't mind, she is drunk on wine.
Last night I had a dream, you wore a wig,
around a belly flat and tight.
Your lips were red and the moon was full.
Riding in your limousine, I feel at large.