This Very, Very Song Poem by Robert Rorabeck

You said that you only wanted to be friends
But then we kissed
And I hurt myself even further along the journey:
And now look at all it has all turned out:
I bought you a book that you somehow finished, Alma:
And the sea is bright green and playing games,
And otherwise these words put me to shame,
And I loved the amber taste of your lips as I drank of
Them in your car
Outside of McDonalds in the rain and the river of
Carports,
And the lackadaisical musters of their queens;
But if I may be as honest as the most distant of all of
Saturn’s rings,
I love you and you are to me more precious than the most
Precious of things,
And if this is how all of it must have to turn out,
And I have to continue getting my mail in my loneliness,
I suppose that it doesn’t have to be so sad:
That I have tasted your wet butterfly like licking a stamp,
And I sailed away in a bed where neither of us belonged
And afterwards I went and sung this very,
Very song.