Pleasant Words For Lovers Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pleasant words for lovers in espionage
Thought out as the spines of flowers trapped in
The teeth of dancing foxes who are
Just learning the first words of a bucolic country
Of windmill hazards- they go down dancing
On their hind legs, their fur feeling all the motions
Of last night’s jasmine- will they enter the barn
And find her like a milk made weeping in the
Hay’s pincushions- will they steal her from her
Knights who were meant to be so glorious
Who have all ridden away to be cannibalized by
Witches in their flying chicken-legged huts:
Yes, he will whisper to them with sharp teeth itching
Of the vineyard, and he will lasso them in his
Forested patina, and brandish along their sides
The hungry kisses he laps them with, until their
Milk is as blooded as when my lips are with thine.