The Flesh Of Your Shared Presence Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I can take out another one straight for you, Sharon;
My purse is bottom less, and filled with meals for you to smell and
Taste over the valleys and highways;
And each time I either fail or succeed, but always in the quiet little ways;
And I think of your ears, and want to be around them;
I want to study the architectures of your ears when you are busy
Entertaining customers, and I want to smell them;
And I don’t need to be popular to want to know you:
And you don’t have to feel a thing for me:
I can dream for you: I can flood the sea for you, Sharon:
I do it seven days a week, and the animals come up paddling or they
Sink,
And the housewives turn up and worship around you, gurgling up
The bottles of your good spirits;
And I have tried to find you: Like a shepherd I have called you,
Far across these modern traffics; and I wonder if you have heard me, or
Have struggled nearer to me,
Because I am blind and yet I am always persistent, as the flesh of your
Shared presence will surely restore me.