To The Gentleness Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Fornication is nice
When the shadows are involved:
The rabbits pullulate in the aloe, rubbing off of
Hands,
The picnic then is backed up, the orbs are first
Hanging from the despotic bouquets of the tree;
And then they are in space-
Why cannot your eyes be the pools in a jungle
When I am thirsty and sleeping alone:
Why can’t we only be friends coming together in an
Agreement of love,
Coming like the palms of an agreeable religion refusing
To migrate away from one another,
Coming together and then scissoring like legs in PE:
I want to work out against you while
Your children are sleeping in dollhouses in the most
Auspicious fires of then thousand stories,
While the horses rest and feed in the yards
Of neighbors in love,
So that tomorrow we don’t have to learn a thing:
Don’t you think that we’ve just about learned enough;
And so we can skip school
And I can busy myself with my longing to touch and be inside
Your flesh,
Like your legs brush themselves so rich from their all day long
Migrations that they just want to lie still for a little
To the gentleness of both of my lips;
And then move a little still like rivers joining flowers
Again, you know, to the gentleness of these kind though un begotten
Lips.