So Beautiful And Perfectly Content Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Happening again through the truths of the brown
Reservoirs of your mouth,
Held back by those lips who only tell me how you
Feel when we are in perfect darkness,
Entranced by the rhythms we put there: but up again,
Sliding out of his wake like a mourning rib,
You put your children into your car and drive them to
School,
Off beside the tiny houses which hold at least
Ten Mexicans each,
And I can see you sisters trying on each others’ clothes
Through the unclean windows,
While the waves move even then out of reach;
As you come toward me, all awake in the daydreams that
Take you away from me even as you come nearer.
Maybe I will see you tomorrow, if it doesn’t rain,
And you will be wearing all of the white gold I have given
To you, like the tinsel and monuments of my pitiful
Soul hung like the entrails of a rapturous kill
All down the brown stems of your body,
As you lullaby like the tide in rhapsody, so beautiful
And perfectly content, never having to feel what it is
That you are doing.