Much More Beautiful Type Of Sin Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If you can see through the window
That I have been touching myself
How can I go on after all my liquor and childhood
Are gone;
How can you not feel the hurricane of rum on
My lips,
How can you not love my pirate ships;
And the Satans waxing poetic on my swings,
All these little brilliant unbelieving things:
Why couldn’t you sit out with my in the backyard
And watch the candles burn in their
Reptilian skulls-
Why did you have to love the more beautiful men,
To become the echoes of your halls;
And they really liked you, and you let them in,
And thus become magnanimous to my
Much more beautiful type of sin.