Gossips Of Esoteric Rain Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Her eyes held all the playbooks and the strangely wonderful
Mechanisms of golden simulacrum,
And I fell on top of her like a beautiful bridge going down
Over the smoky streets of London:
I tasted her in my mouth like the watering hole for unicorns,
And she never once questioned my face:
Her brown skin was perfect, even holy, and wrapped up in my
Cheap blue sheets it was almost a prayer:
That is what I did for her: I kept on telling her I loved her,
While the men fixed the end of the street with their
Heavy hammers,
Which were drowned out by us, and the bed moved across the room
Like the forest returning to Dusanine,
And bringing with it soft kisses throughout the glorious
Gossips of esoteric rains.