My Most Unrequited Of Graves Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Teaching him again into your bed, but I bet he doesn’t
Know all of your secrets:
He left you for Mexico, but look here he is again,
Like a zoetrope, or the uncanny life in Pinocchio:
And he gave you a daughter just so you and him could
Survive,
But I still see the fires for me burning in your eyes,
Like the playthings of your soul who don’t know who they
Are,
Leaping as sacrifices for my body alone:
And I buy you so many gifts just so you might remember me:
I have neither gun, but I am still your sheriff,
And when you go to sleep I want you to feel the bight of
Sharp spindles off my symphony:
Because I live by you, as is my right; as I wish to die by you,
To have our names gathered together through the forever
Infinite night,
So that our brethren will know what we were meant to be,
Two souls in boxes of dirty symphony:
Alma’s nocturnal soul playing uncontained without the need
Of life’s illuminations to entertain my most unrequited of
Graves.