The Riches Which Were His To Explore Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If of course these eyes are the hungry avenues
Along your very Egyptian neck,
And you sell wine and are already thinking of making space
For another child,
Do not worry about me: I promise you I am mundane,
And I am not very beautiful;
And I have loved other women than you, if I have loved;
And I have not shrunken all that much,
But I have shrunken, but around that time you gave me
A certain type of unrequited poem dissimilar to
Any other sort of romantic poem I have written;
And I say I have seen angels in your bone structures,
Or maybe even an entirely new continent good for the fingers
Of your husband’s body to explore,
If his mind had the know how and where with all,
As mine should have; which is does not; but yours is a
Fairytale place not with standing,
And your daughter will grow up as tall and beautiful and
Heavyhearted as her mother, never knowing how easily he
Placed her in you, never once conceiving the riches which were
His to explore.