Reawakened Sentiment Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Look how demandingly the night proceeds,
So finely dressed in a gala of waves,
The undulations of such whimsical forces turning
So slowly while the tourists sleep, save for
The lovers necking beneath the cross lit by halogens,
And all the palm trees whispering in mass
Over the almost forgotten memories in conquests,
Of blue-shelled conquistadors in patinas of cormorants,
And nuns in shrouds of habits sunken in coffins:
This is what I mean, when I turn to say to you,
When every star has been named,
And all the grass mowed, and I can smell you
Just as fine as a blade in dew; finite our bodies shall
Be, but while it lasts I will want you as infinitely as
Each wave in this sea, and take nothing more from
You than your open wrist, and turning it beneath the
Secrets of building nimbus, kiss you where you thought
Least, and raise you in my heavens until you shine
Like an eastern star undiminishing, even in an awakened
Sky, and hold you still beating when the tourists drive
By, never thinking how even then they go so fleeting,
Though I am sustained by you,
Even as the waves tire, and with the tide are retreating.