My Diaphanous Muse Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If the doors close, will the lips too pull back:
I feel alone even at the delta of her kiss,
And the airplane’s wings are spread and flying in the dead
Of night where the luscious students lay sleeping,
Spread out like adventurers lost on a quest,
Persuaded by their own hopes of monsters to fall into
The field and to dream of apples-
With eyes closed, I dream of my muse as she sleeps in
Her own house- even while I have been so close to her-
The neighborhood of her soul lies in the South of
Mexico- and I am shoeless when I come to her,
Wondering around, her mother’s womb opened like a churlish
Rose in a busy apiary,
Showing her to me- pulsing with the eager pornography
Of my diaphanous muse.