The Maidens When The Lords Are Not At Home Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If your body ever really yields and counting
Backwards it was revealed that we were made out of the
Same fabric
From the torn flags on the defeated battlefield,
Then how will it make you feel that I have seen your house
When you wasn’t home;
And I have seen the park where your children breathe like
Butterflies over a crop that has yielded what it could yield;
And I already know your car:
Your silhouette- seen the tattoo on an N on the web of skin
Between your thumb and index:
Maybe it was a compass for a man; but all I know now is that your body
Roams sleek and golden,
Your eyes as big and lustrous as creatures who crenellate
The apertures of the seesawing tide:
I have been up to college and down again, while you remained
On Cherry Rd flushing, a bride in every aspect of her landscaping;
And all I have learned is that I need to steal you away again,
To bring your children into our home,
To make breath atop of your brown skin, to enter into your home
Stolen to my home,
The way some green knights kiss the maidens when their lords are not
At home.