So Nice Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Looking up words later on while
The airplanes are touching down
When they had no right to be in the sky
In the first place without you;
And I want to play baseball, and I haven’t played
Baseball in ever so long,
But without you what good is a game; and your
Name isn’t Dorothy,
But I would like to go to OZ with you all the same,
Just to be your dog or your scarecrow,
But my heart- it is thoroughly attached by the crossbeams
Of the great rafters you will forever be serving
Your sweet beverages under: You sell soda pop,
And look at your eyes,
The bridge between them the conjunction of two beautiful
Sisters swimming synchronized,
Looking out for the places you are going, and serving as
The corridors by which your memory recalls the places you
Have been;
And I think your senses are really something,
The mathematics by which I might have you around me,
Bearing fruit and scrimshawed furniture from the earlier beasts
You’ve taken down:
Or going down on you myself in a sweetly darkened corner,
Work and the day lamp shaded,
Even our senses would be hooded, and we would have
Great troubles recalling, perhaps, where we were,
But it would be so nice.