The Breath In My Body Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Reams of rockets and
Of kaleidoscopes: watching Alma eating the lunch I bought
For her
As we work together five days a week, and lushing on the
Expectations of love with her tomorrow,
Returning to my nightly work in reverence of her, my first
Consumated muse
Who I will have children with and a good long life,
Traveling in the tandem of Siamese bicycles to the seaside parks
And under the insouciant meanderings of the clouds
Who can mean anything;
Though to the both of us always mutually, two butterflies
Fluttering un intruded on by their previous maggot forms:
Resting quite happily across the smooth stone filigree
Of graveyards:
Even now she has five bouquets of roses that I bought or took
For her breathing their last breaths in her crowded little house;
And today was her mother Rosa’s birthday,
And I am just a drifting thought without her, a hobo in the airconditioning
Of a little dream paid for upfront with cash,
While her body sings to me even while asleep with another man,
Because I know that she doesn’t even like to read,
But reads of her body in these words, and says she loves me now,
As the days come and pass,
Proving to me my soul, the breath in my body, the wine in my glass.