To Make Love To You Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The bodies are really hear, terrifying through the shadows:
And I am sweating through all of my scars
Laying potbellied on the couch I bought last week at faith farms:
But I have no face other than in you,
Alma:
You are all the proof I need, your silloutte showing up in the dreams
That try to preach to anyone:
And when I awaken each morning, I can see through the great bay windows
Of my house,
Past the cataracts of the fox-tailed palms,
To the power lines and to the airplanes leaping away:
Eventually they get to the spot where they have no more wounds
And can hover together like love bugs pulling their bodies
Apart and make aments with one another in the sky:
In the spot where we cannot believe, and then I clean and dress,
And hope to find you awakened and in the fruiteria, moving around with
The brilliances of dust:
Your body so brown beneath the leaping airplanes that have no business being
There,
And you standing out against the streams of traffic;
You in the sixty degrees of my line of sight, twice that of most alligators:
And I saw a coral snake today before she went away;
And I just wanted to make love to you,
Alma: I just wanted to make love to you, Alma.