The Perfect Candlelight Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words come forth gentle soldiers,
Impotent lads and stand for her amusement,
Shivering,
Bare shoulders:
Yes, you are the things who are made to die
Forever, like
Hair, the undulating bullets piercing sky;
And it is not seemingly that you are
Here,
Going off like popcorn when you want to
Be expensive rounds,
Like silver fish flapping pathetically upon
The receded shore
At the feet of her restaurant where she is
Always kissing and making love
In the perfect candlelight.