Love Is A Phallus

She or he would say, Confessions in the middle meet The eye. Some will in the storm ride out and Meet at night. The point may hit the heart, it won't retreat Nor miss the mark. Is it odd, the pot of gold is warm on either Side, Or being color blind An abstract word is missed for lack of sight. Then the base is not the end love, For you and I. As the shadow on the wall moves up and down Without a cause. The surf, the wind, the sand is where I make my stand As I am her just cause, And her claim to fame is not a shallow cave, nor on The rock's. Tossed as foam no helmet worn, swallows come And go. And oysters fresh adorn my lips, their meat I gulp Down whole. Drunk's two kissing in the night the moon is full, The stars are out the sun has set, And the phallic shape sits in her hands, forgotten Names. Leaves parting as the bush on fire, the wind blows On our necks, I will wait for your reply. Copyright © James McLain | Year Posted 2018