Moist In The Middle Poem by James McLain

The wind plays softly on my skin,
A whisper stirring deep within,
Moist in the middle where passion grows,
Where silence breaks and longing flows.

The world is warm, a heavy breath,
And I, a bloom on the edge of death,
Panting softly in the night's embrace,
The meaty pull of time and space.

The wind, it lifts, it sways, it sings,
A song of heat and fleeting things.
Moist in the middle, where love ignites,
A flame that burns through shadowed nights.

Panties cling like a second skin,
And all the universe spins within.
Warm and tender, close and true,
The world is vast, yet centered in you.