Wooden Polished Floors Poem by James McLain

And now than latter, tell me honey what is this?
Just are as you of this and this you are my only love.
Even there caught up between the Ivory pillows.
Longing how it reaches out a branch to you.
And how could it have been my teacher, forever it is long.
Never worth the wait, not waiting, having, drinking it all in.
Having it the all and love it's just you wished it after all.
Before each late sunrise, early dawn sunsets.
And the backdoor left ajar and light the sprinkled skies.
Sitting down to cup after cup I drink this tea, longing yes of wait.
And after the teacups have been wiped off, removed, after all the shadows from the dress and tussled dark green silk
how much longer is this trail the lenghth this song I sing,
along the wooden polished floor.
And turning back around towards open sky my window, is.
Should I say it to this crying face I am looking up, below.