Made Up Rhymes Of Love Poem by Robert Rorabeck

In arcades of sweat and bad math, we do this
Again,
While the night just makes the sound of cats making love:
It is a naturalistic way to go:
But the elephants are very quiet:

And there is no pausing in our art: Alma, I just want to taste
You and feel your gentle brown rasping on my door:
And you’ve done this for
Six months now;
I’ve known you, and we’ve made love, from time to
Time

Going back and forth like sailors, while you reconcile
With your abusive misanthrope,
While I pound harder and harder liquor,
And then your children get sick, or they get well:

So the dragons take to the sky with the airplanes
And the stewardesses, but they are not necessary all bad:
There is still some hope left to them,
As beneath their interrupted slumbers, some girl’s hands still
Pushes clay:

And his lips still blow glass into fantastic machinations:
But if it was soon, it was not today,
But I saw you, and held your perfect brown body in my gaze,
And made up rhymes of love,
Before I was made to walk away.