Love Is A Phallus Poem by James McLain

She or he would say,
Confessions in the middle meet
The eye.
Some will in the storm ride out and
Meet at night.
The point may hit the heart, it won't retreat
Nor miss the mark.

Is it odd, the pot of gold is warm on either
Side,
Or being color blind
An abstract word is missed for lack of sight.
Then the base is not the end love,
For you and I.
As the shadow on the wall moves up and down
Without a cause.

The surf, the wind, the sand is where I make my stand
As I am her just cause,
And her claim to fame is not a shallow cave, nor on
The rock's.
Tossed as foam no helmet worn, swallows come
And go.

And oysters fresh adorn my lips, their meat I gulp
Down whole.
Drunk's two kissing in the night the moon is full,
The stars are out the sun has set,
And the phallic shape sits in her hands, forgotten
Names.
Leaves parting as the bush on fire, the wind blows
On our necks,
I will wait for your reply.



Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2018