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,
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
But I don’t care: whatever possibilities can blow on the
As long as you happen to me tomorrow, and tomorrow
Again and again.
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