What Do You See, 'After I Have Poem by James McLain

Seeing all of me, just as I am
the waters soft touch upon me.
Coming out/in from the sea
like the waves lapping up, 'behind you.
And after I have.
I am not after your compliments
though I am made sad by your grace
from such as they are, because of your joy
when you see what you see, when I swim.
I was never taught by they to receive them.
Talking too many, I talk, as they talk.
I swim along side as you walk the shore.
I listen to the many whom have need
like you they need to speak, I listen.
I am counsel too my surroundings
I always have been.
They wear their various bikinis degrees revealing.
I have talked to a few
about their understanding of what such things
do to our train of thought
when a thought we are able to find being around
their things and being unexpectedly touched by
the permissibility
of having to remain in the water until it becomes.
Being honest most say they are fully conscious
of their effect upon this of that.
And blushing, I point out too her that her bright smile
I can see and that leads to other questions.
Then bending over she picks up a shell as I scoop
up some foam from between her legs,
and I ask her,
what do you see, 'after I have come out of the sea.