Dear Season Poem by James McLain

dear season,
like the flower of each new day
and humid hot, summer is open,
each beginning, begins as for the pressure
which extends, deep is it's feelings.
and hardly times passes by, it becomes tense.
as for my muscle as for pain and the joy.
the sensuality,
which overwhelms my feeling of feelings.
as my center spits out the back section and
arches it's mouth from the ecstasy
which denies my brain.
sound of panting to pass through, it falls,
the excavation which is opened, sharply you/me is red,
because you are the sensuality
which is each nail which was painted,
falling to the range of my pink is opened thus slowly,
one' where it's feeling; permeation;
as for the range of as for the pure joy of a being
behavior him who is beginning…
the soft pressure which dampens gently in contact is feeling,
the lung sucks the earth laid fast with pain and one'
that do to make within the pleasant feeling,
where it moves hardly and becomes simultaneously.
arm each muscular banana crookedness,
the internal back sectioned, bow flexed buttocks stretched
over the stomach level, and it tightens hard;
because as for the tenderness of hot heat
and velvet where the brain of it, got wet and those which are quality
lay inside feeling the thing make the slide of qualities
she demands forever hard in the lower part,
hardness of resistance, slickness is felt with the thing,
big bang for the buck is tempting, as he re-shoulders his cross bow.