The Breath Of This Body's Hands Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Bodies push as they feel:
Bodies sweat and move: Bodies in cars, bodies in
Coffins, bodies in homes have so much to prove:
Bodies arising like flowers for your senses:
Bodies over the campus; bodies in rest, and bodies in coitus,
Bodies searching for a light, and a light house,
While all day and all night the sea clips mercilessly like apathetic
Funhouses for bodies;
And I have not won so many prices as to have won you, and all my
Lamps are doused in the night hoping to sneak up on your flesh,
To smell you breathing outside of your home that the cops also
Patrol;
And it might be said by the motivations of my own body that I should
Win you,
Because you are this body’s muse; you are the lamp of its soul,
But that is only because I am selfish, and you are too beautiful for
Any man: and so you shimmer your constellations, and in your
Greedy metamorphosis of water and of land, you disappear
Into the daydreams of traffic, like the ever-loving filament between
The breath of this body’s hands.