Every Time She Winks..I Love Her More... Poem by James McLain

Her wrack of torture knows no bounds touch ends.
In squealers, wank a stain upon the
'art of pain she grins.
Mania, biplanes, necrotic tics make
me tremble much I fear in letting go.
High, so high above the ground, she
turns the handle one more time to
feels the sinews come undone, is chic.
Falling, falling...I keep up without her one
approach, attached, her wrack is taught.
Parachute in hand Is lent inside again.....I win one..wink..
Queen she flies this, plane called newits art is swank..