That It Will Be Nice Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Oh, its hard to thing of things that can make it above
The planes,
Above the trees, and bivouac in what I know you cannot
Believe:
These words try to become the censers of my feat:
They try to leap and leap and leap without some much as
One single foot:
Your two eyes is what makes them strut, your sunny sunburned
Eyes, leaving tracks upon the beach;
Your eyes are bottle rockets: your eyes are messages for
Men on Mercury waiting for their eyelashed vibrancy;
You eyes are the reason that I have no need for a bedroom set;
And the reason for why my dogs are so hungry and alone,
Because I have forgotten them,
And that is why I am writing this, waiting for your eyes to open
Like sunrise:
Waiting for your eyes to say anything without saying anything,
Because I am so sure that it will be nice.