Cooing As She Does Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Desperadoes fighting the good fight:
I cannot go to sleep at night without kissing
My mother before hand,
And maybe you saw the light by our window
While you were out jogging,
Excited by the prospects of your new husband,
While he was coming home that night, his plane
Touching down on yours,
Great engines roaring in a bed you’d prepared
And turned the living room into a picnic with tulips
And ground orchids
And another song of merry-go-rounds and little sisters
Who are always into trouble;
But I must confess I was thinking of you,
And hoping my mother’s lips would one day be your lips:
I put on a Liverpool fetish for so long for,
It sort of became the guarantor for all of my new life
And everything that came after it;
Yes, I couldn’t teach or make love again to any true woman
I might find in my heart,
But I did put you on my swings one time and made you kick
Up your heels in the very same spot where that
Very same night I conducted
The moon to ladle the sky as I wished to conduct my body
Into what refreshing pools you allow your husband to imbibe
Daily and nightly,
As he is always touching down on your sweet body
The places my mother will only allow me to dream upon
Cooing as she does, cooing.