Desire Poem by James McLain

Weak me, how I am look at you never stop, Oh!
Breached the glass ceiling, so it has reached her, class.
The glass flowers I picked from the forest of trees.
For the moment as the wind moves the moss and leaves.
On the one hand hidden in rings, the other is shortly found.
Where I take the butterfly rests my hat she always hides.
Laying down feel I it stand, invited she makes it sit down.
Forgotten the bells of green clover, under the cover of desire.