Tomorrow And Tomorrow Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The death of many things and all trespasses
Apathetically on the livings’ cages:
And on their houses and what all, while I lived today,
Alma,
And ran my fingers across the blinds of your ribs:
Maybe it is true that you stole them from me,
And made it all the way home from
Mexico, but I don’t care:
You live here now, and I am yours, and maybe we will
Have children,
But I don’t care: whatever possibilities can blow on the
Winds,
As long as you happen to me tomorrow, and tomorrow
Again and again.