The Soft Transgresses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Early in the morning like a musical,
The sun on the heels of the snake, kisses the grass;
As if I could lie you low like a knight with
A passion,
Or like a curious airplane over the orchards:
Little girls kissing in between the buttercups of class,
And all the days a long adventure
Until they finally came suddenly and quixotic to the windmills
Of your brown eyes,
Who seemed to be smiling their meanings to the fickleness
Of the trafficking clouds,
Where every road has their ends in illusion:
Where the galleries tumble and the pretty affairs finally become
Tight lipped,
Where the bedrooms float like fairytales themselves;
And I think that wouldn’t it just be night to awaken the next
Morning at the end of the drive,
Into your brown and dusty arms: every pore on your body a windmill,
Speaking the soft transgresses that I am so glad that we have come
To know.