The Pure Feel Of Her Touch Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I’m sorry sir,
But she’s said we can’t take off
With liquor only
30 % alcohol- because this way
The moon is too low,
And she can’t seem to lie back and caress
The first ancient fondling of the early morning
Sky;
It isn’t quite beautiful enough for her to give up
And die,
Not numb enough for her to really not feel to
Know if your written emotions are what lies
For real;
And a soul is the engine turning over but dead,
Like an unfortunate robin stung by a fortunate snake
Straight in the head;
And its not even good enough for the mainstream
Songs in between the pages of pulpy psalms,
And the books they’ll teach your children
Before nap time,
Just a little nip of nothing but rhyme; and so we
Should stay here just floating through the great bleary day,
Enjoying the lower canopies, the soft graveyards and such,
But it will take purer liquor for her to reward us
With the pure feel of her touch.