For Those Original Loves That I Will Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I make these games out of a cannibalistic night:
I eat myself across the grand highways and fjords where the
Silliest and most beautiful of flowers
Prove to have no lovers,
And the goldfish sink: Oh, how the goldfish sink just before
Your eyes,
While your brown flesh wonders, and makes its wishes
Up to the infinities of skies,
And then moves away farther than even the most vibrant of
Midways could ever move:
And you become a queen before my eyes, migrating across
The caesuras and billboards:
Where will you go now but across the woebegone fronteras
And there again to Mexico,
Where you will reminisce and pine like an endless candle
For those original loves that I will never know.