When You Cut Your Hair Poem by Robert Rorabeck

When you cut your hair, we made love;
And I made rounds with my sweetheart- and I never had to come
Down:
I wrote something when I was twenty four that was published but
Never read;
But I still have a story, and you are definitely in it right now:
While the music plays just as carelessly as rain:
And the faeries moan in their green chateaus; but I like you,
And marmalade:
And even as you yawn, why even then the stars rise up and the windmills
Gather around,
And I fight off the banishments of my lonely diseases, and I cry just
To fill up middle class swimming pools,
While the new children of my peerless grownups gather still in the
Same high schools that my ancient footsteps echo around;
And it is as proof less as the fireworks who never
Have existed; and yet I finally have made love to my soul,
And it feels as good and as luckily placed as a ship in its bottle into which
The waves have finally settled down:
And in those museums even the airplanes stop to pause, their armpits
Smelling like wildflowers, who from those transoms all of the agogs of the
Seamless stewardesses, through their streak less transoms, finally settle down.