Princess Escaped From Mexico Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words as short as miniskirts
Stopped my heart: and we ate and had pancakes,
And then I promised to take you back home with me
To show you my Virgins of Guadalupe;
But not to make love those some weeks after July 4th:
Alma, Alma, but we made love:
You in your mini-falta, which I hardly even deserved, curled
Up to your belly like a wrapper in a chocolate bar:
You as brown and as perfect as the epiphany of a sun shower
At dusk:
And we made love, and some weeks later I drove with you
Past the opulence of houses in palm beach; and I told you
Not to look at them, but to the perfectly calmed sea,
And I asked you if you could not see yourself out there,
Lying in completed tranquility with the elements who never
Needed any further occupations:
Out in the cerulean, which was not ever your favorite color,
I still told you that this was exactly how beautiful you were;
And I wanted to hold your hand even though you’d
Never been to Disney World,
Because you were already a princess escaped from Mexico;
And you were: you were.