Far Away From Here Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I put your name in all of my meals:
I ride around with your syllables on my wheels;
And your besos are my wings,
When you skip around and kiss me open mouthed
In the rain,
Like a scratching record choosing its own tunes to
Pick up:
Your body is as light as a kite, it feels like a butterfly on
My swing;
And when I get low, my suicide gets distracted by your
Kites:
Pulled away by the wrists of your children.
Alma, I become a coloring book waiting open mouthed
For the first signs of the storm:
Hurry, now, Alma and color me in:
All of your hopes and inspirations tattoo onto my open
Wrists who is like a mistress or a song bird
For you,
Before I bleed, before I steal bicycles and buy rides
Far away from here.