Floating On Airplanes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Inside an airplane is cool and easy,
Where everything is moving steady,
Like the quietly humming specials of car salesmen;
And balloons of many colors,
And children weeping holding hands with their
Mothers at the zoos, and suckling;
And when your lips impart to me snacks
And dreaming,
I can say that I have a lover above any mountain,
Even if she is getting paid to be polite for it-
Because the words on airplanes don’t have a certain
Meaning,
And it is expected to meet ancient childhood and
Heavenly abundant sororities at the end of it,
Wherever one might be going- Touching down there,
Then the sun is steady and is as warm as a furnace
Like glass blowing,
And I could say that I love you from all the way up here,
And not really mean a thing,
And all the professors and their critiquing and even those
Successful lawyers the widest fonts are advertising
Can’t truly touch me-
Cupping your bosom like water leaping,
Like bending over the fountain breathlessly panting
In some half destructive kindergarten,
Just your lips and their services, lipsticks’ fjords
smelling of another tongue’s vociferous language, rowing-
Yet evolving, and there the colors are yet blooming:
Even on fixed wings,
Virgins stringing the vaporous garden like the crowning of
Some celebration
With the physical tendrils almost giving up their evaporation;
And here I love you,
With the blooming mythologies wearing seamless nylons,
And your ankle curling, mythological vases
Stuffed with valentines;
But this is just a song without its certain meaning
Wondrously sailing, just a piece of paper
Floating for a second above the forgetful earth.