Every Inch Poem by James McLain
Every Inch
Her body hidden was.
A valley of one and more of.
Soft of voice I thereof.
Days measured by inches of rain.
Narrower are the hips,
every inch is.
The moan of the wind,
Swimming inside of the night.
Every inch is like nails,
driven in and out of this world.
Pleasure is gained by mere inches.
Around the pain more than most.
Making every inch count,
on the lake.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/25/2024 8:17:35 PM # 1.0.0.1119
