Through The Zephyrs And Pigmies Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I love you and I want your body with me in bed:
I want our toes to crochet together, while your hair is a
Shadowy red;
And never mind that I have ever loved a white skinned Indian
From Gainesville;
Her body is just like any other body; so pierced, but it cannot feel;
It can laugh with its tracks of ancestors, but it cannot feel,
Like a snowflake surely melts on the grill and the windowsill.
And they are taking the more sexier swing sets away,
But today is my tomorrow, and tomorrow is your birthday;
And I gave you wings just so I could touch them, and I got a gun
I stole from my father just so I wouldn’t have to be afraid on your
Tresses;
And even while I hear the zippers of the deepest graveyards in all of America, my cheek still itches as it thinks of thee:
Alma, Alma, body in the cul-de-sacs of Spain, everyday a Christmas
That is un-American- I love your states of America, and I touch
Myself just as I wish that you would put me in your mouth
While the dogs leap and the cats go under the rain clouds and my mother
Takes her pills and then all of the show goes to sleep with one another’s
Lovers, and our shoes are tired but jubilant, and you choose me for
The night, just as I choose you:
Alma, Alma: oh how I surely choose you: tonight and every other night
Through the zephyrs and pigmies of all that is our new Spain.