Like an addiction to marijuana or crack.
Up on the shelf your hands shaking take it down.
It is pliable brown it is oiled french and soft.
It is as if you, breathing heavy last left it.
It is as clean as the rain that softly comes down.
It is like two car's on a bridges that never meet.
Your home work that is late or never gets done.
Always there when you're nervous and hurriedly need it.
Supple it is and it's hum is made up of your gutteral sounds.
You sleep more soundly, love is full all around you.
Inside the cocoon where it floats like two butterfly's.
Worries float away, each wave is more intense that the last.
The thing I like about it the best is that I never need a man.
Falling asleep without any mess I'm ready neat come morning.
You can stop telling lies because I know that you have one.
Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2018
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem