Unglorified Peach In An Unexplainable Rainstorm Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If you weep vermilion over the starless passion
Of your eyes,
What brail will buy me fruit; like a strayed terrapin,
Upon which
Hibiscus will I survive;
My neck is open like a honey dewed flower anticipating
The sting of your barb:
The sea has so many marionettes that she hired
To keep the sailors
Enchanted;
And there you go leaping like a butterfly driving in its
Car;
And I wanted to walk out with you into the meaty cloisters
Of anemones,
But it is already past the season for
Pomegranates;
And really there are so many beautiful women devoided into
The world:
They slip like paper cuts over the footpaths of fur traders;
And sometimes they make it all
The way up to Colorado; and sometimes they get
Distracted by the Mississippi;
But I have found you now, and pressed your body to me like
And entomologist with his kingdom of species;
And I tasted your lips like the star fruit
Underneath the flaming sword of the overpass;
And then I got nervous and blustered away from the really beautiful
Magic trick or dream,
The way things stay extended into the air underneath careless
Airplanes;
But if I came back to you now, I think I would find you still there,
As beautiful and breathless as the still life
Of a myriad graveyard:
If you are something that can last forever, blooming like
An un glorified peach in an unexplainable rainstorm.