Warm Morning Mist Poem by James McLain

Guidance firmly kneels at the foot
of one's space
stealing parting glances one takes.
Not yet awake along the deep edge
a full feeling builds up
deep inside.
Full neatly trimmed it is moist out of place
eye to eye
as one waits on those long dreamy legs.
Nuanced, enhanced as one waits, butter melts
at a much faster pace.
A starving face sits below two fat fluid lips
pale is the moon it is wide.
No one here heard the loud *gasp*
as the rain golden and warm fell out side.