The Color Of Your Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Boldest lies, you are telling a fanciful truth,
Fitful of wildflowers in the dells of your gold, and our aunt went
To Miami today and bought us two
Virginsitas of white gold that I will have to pay for,
But that’s okay:
You came over to my house and we made love,
And love, and love; and I finally felt what it was like to be
A Mexican in the sort of heat that only your
Country knows; so nothing in my white washed schools could
Prepare me for this,
Though all of my previous girlfriends melt away,
And I go laughing into your homeless forts above the orange groves
Where the laborers are spitting sangria,
And the blue birds emote carnivorously, but not a single one of
Them has met the color of your eyes,
Though today that color was all over me.