The Secrets Of The Truth Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pacifists looking on, jaws constructed of spider webs,
Flotillas of daydreams eking through the yawn,
And wearied, defeated husbands and wives
Still swearing they’re in love;
And under a naked light above you kiss, your flesh the absence
Of angels,
In a mote where what was suppose to be your ethereal guardian
Emolliates:
You just want to lie down with her in a bed that has been used
By no one else,
Kiss by the alley cats her tenements of brownly gifted extremities
And wings-
To yawl in the morning beside her, synchronized-
A boy and a girl at play, selling produce to the tourists and the fire
Flies,
So you can call her your life- Now as she flirts with anyone
That comes in,
That what you are hawking is fresh, and her eyes that are so
Dark and growing deep enough to hold the secrets of the truth.