Like Butterflies Wilting Onto A Flower Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Every valley has its song,
Its fruit indented in the balms of beautiful girls who
Have gone to sleep to early:
Like every child has his world, and if he is lucky
Bicycles and worms to sacrifice for fishing
While you are in your house tonight,
And it makes me laugh to imagine you naked
Save for roller-skates because where you live that is very
Difficult,
But even more beautiful: That your every night is a church,
And you have already killed me like a sacrifice for breakfast
Like butterflies wilting onto a flower even while they
Are mating.