Quaffing Her Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words come because I need them,
Skittish, because I have yet tamed them,
Though sometimes I have fed them well,
And done as little harm to them as I could,
But they are meant for sacrifices for her beauty,
So that I should cut and press them
And remove them from their moist habitats
In my throats, pull them forth like tubers
Using the extemporaneous tap-dances these
Fingers do: each knuckle should wear
A suit and tie; When stymied for better
Usage, the two hands should fight and choke
Each other, which might appear to strangers
As a self-congratulatory handshake;
They want to unbutton her blouse; they want
To run along her and practice the only sense they
Know; they want to curl around a steering wheel
And take her to the beach, or wave to adoring
Fans, but she is the elusive allegory grown nubile
And tantalizing from a verdant stem, and
Other words which are only suitable for a future
Midnight, should they clasp her neck like a chalice,
And leaning her back drink from those lips,
As she is poured into these.