The Echo Of A Ghost Poem by Robert Rorabeck

White as the echo of a ghost, I lay with Alma:
We do not make love, but we kiss- and it snows in the
Sunshine:
I tell her, her skin is beautiful, and I dream of her
In a great university or in the maroon bells,
Who are treacherous but alluring- and afterwards,
Her stomach still aching from
Her hernia,
I drift off to some library I was in at a Catholic school
In Saint Louis Missouri:
My muse has promised to be with me by next year,
And my dog sleeps at the foot of my bed-
And what seems to truly be a god, hibernates only feet
Above me.