If Only Sunshine Could Cry Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The power of the spell over her, as dark as a
Starless Mexico,
As elusive as the eel of onyx slipped into the grottos
Of her favorite virgins after
All of the celebrations- after the suicides of her
Inextinguishable uncles,
And the last ashes of the madder than mad fireworks:
And I wanted to kiss her lips
Through the open windows of all of the possible sorts
Of transportation imaginable,
Thought up by man- helicopters and even through the
Transoms of a forest diademing the shell rock
That ended in the brink of a childhood canal;
But I was only eleven and petrified of
Kidnappers while the rabbits laid eggs,
Excited by Easter sunrise, and another resurrection,
While I bent and nibbled at her painted toes;
And when we made love in my cerulean bed, and
She held my breast, my ample flesh clutched in her painted
Nails for the few minutes we had,
It seemed that it should be raining outside, if only sunshine
Could cry.