Glazed Within Poem by James McLain

Lest you do,
while yes, you lay in sleep.
You turn, as if on a long bar,
lost, in it's steel.
Even space around you,
shudders you, from without.
Your peaks glow fiery hot,
if you were...lips, if only.

Moister in the room dropps
from ceilings, white eye.
It has puddled,
in and around you, yes
gasping out.

To cook as a succulency
is to find lobsters pink flash.
Turning butter dripps it's baste,
hotspots do shrink, shaking.

Giant is the napkins pink mouth, raining to fall, ... into.