That They Too Believed Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I told her I would be quiet, and I have slept in phone booths
When the rains stormed down from the higher tenements, and then
We kissed and it was all surreal:
There really wasn’t enough to go around, all the Saints in green valleys
Of unicorns and beavers: All the trees and plants growing up
Into the professions of their glades,
Where the bodies fit just right and baptized near the reedy estuaries
Of her long legs, but I couldn’t give up, and I sang to her to open
Her lips like bottles of liquor; and it was a feverish passion,
And a bottle rocket romance right out in the dense middle of high school:
Her legs repeating the strokes until through the air she swam,
As if in epilepsy, the angels kissing and flexing for her, the rainbows
Bowing: and then she was over all the carports and lymph nodes
Of suburbia, so when the housewives looked up open shirted, soft lipped
Their eyes remorsefully dazzled; but they sang that they too believed.