Snivel Lifts Poem by James McLain

Cheese it as you leave some spread on the
bed I mixed with curds your way.
Blemished sight of bacteria holds them
in the cloth of mold a little longer.
Lacking recirculation you grab the last
piece of newspaper hoping as the veins
split and barrels showing more in haste.
The light allows you to bath in a conscious
fragrance that tears all the tasters.
Finally of love you speak when leaving out
the other door ignored.