Self-Sacrifice Poem by James McLain

It is wafting at the edge of cotton.
It is love and love of it, is virtue,
and virtue it is satisfaction.
It is moving aside the pink,
and the red cloud of true feeling.
It is limitless color,
where it is lush the rain falls.
It is opened,
all the covers of contentment.
It is earthen,
and this product of my body brown.
It is you before 'I' before you the world shook.
It is all the names in the world.
It is the feeling of being good sweetheart.
It is self-sacrifice as pure as that self-sacrifice.