My Auburn Queen Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I want to buy you flowers and buy you vowels:
While the feral thoughts in my pastures howls- And I want to
Resurrect my verses by holding your
Little brown foot, or your little brown hand:
You seem as innocent as a child who has survived all of her fairytales:
I put my fingers on you like an instrument:
Listen to how you sing, like cars, like rain:
Like the wind tunnels on Christmas in Spain,
While before everything that I ever was had given up, like a goldfish
Belly up, like the words conjoined in a library that has never awakened:
But you given the suicide of my airplanes balloons,
And none of this is even real, Alma- it is all just the sort of thing I
Would have never had to sung, if I was truly your prince:
If I was more beautiful, but all of my flaws your flawless eyes never seem
To see:
You are my brown princess, you are my auburn queen, and now all of
My animals are waking up to pet you, and to be petted.