The Beating Breasts Of Waves Poem by Robert Rorabeck
The Beating Breasts Of Waves
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Molded to those lips of cannons,
The green airplanes fold up and go to sleep
Long after the absences of chirruping tourisms:
When the night flowers bloom
Their milky lactates, mimicking the stolen
Architectures of moonrises-
And across the ocean there is only absences
All together between the beating breasts of waves.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Topic(s) of this poem: flowers,green,lips,ocean
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7/30/2026 2:26:38 AM # rel_20260727T173023Z_37e450e
