My Weakness For The Female Hand Poem by James McLain

I swear I didn't and as for her which thinks of each thing.
Any name will do I called today.
Looking she does not look at my perplexity of the.
Her part is to the left, next to the far right.
She wears loose clothes in order to murder me.
The high narrow place has been because of the high heels.
Where to be short the slit on the dark split skirt,
and the front part is neatly trimmed where.
The blouse and the starch is white.
They are about four or five inches.
It makes the black patent leather feel like.
Legs that climb like a snake the hose, which is shed like skin.
Black on black with some pink, is not high and does not become.
Those pulled apart the glance the ring around the neck is.
I rearrange the back section of her hair, sudden movements.
It gives her the stern somewhat appearance in wearing those.
As I would so do she does, I do the hand at first glance,
and it is swallowed eagerly.
The length from the tip of the finger, past the palm to the wrist.
Filled with fingers the glove the wrists movement like a watch.
As for her that these at that time you take the matter in hand.
Which is not long enough,
every foot which approximately possesses delirious thoughts.