When, Cities Sleep Poem by James McLain

There you have me kneel down between,
by your hands being humbled.
Tied down on your bed you read me your poetry.
Pushing down my tears back from whence they came.
Tears of your pink God.
And with each pulse you go on.
Hearing them the poems black each little cut.
I thought of you unconscionably,
you must stay free this grip on my neck is to tight.
It is said that Charles Bukowsk is reincarnated.
I sit too wait alone in this bed as an island in the stream.
I know too when cities sleep.
Your too many secrets sweet golden mist.
Dreams of you I long for sex under your mirror at home.
Humming bird songs drift by lazily your life is it's wealth.
My earliest memory of your vagina is that I must burst from it.
The burning edge of desire the waves, open red lips.
I am safe from the storm in your arms.
And the price that you make me pay is to stay
minuets then seconds from your lips.