Her Heart His Love Poem by James McLain

The muscle.
Is hers and hers alone.
Crimsom loves.
Which it makes it beats because of love,
Become deformed.
Act not as they.
Actuality you think that the indication of which.
Is conventionalized,
God says it is so you sanctify.
This muscular organ,
and bring he like me to the edge of insanity,
the love which is the value of each contraction.
Which confused the heart to the beat.
Shape is reflected it is called that kind of blood
that of which is and being is filled up,
does not follow love so you say but it does young are young.
At the place where it is loved excessively….
Heart keeps up love and the thorn on your toes.
From the mouth of babes I love a few, 'Tenderonnies.