Your Foremost Of Senses Poem by Robert Rorabeck

If I am waiting to fill out and become the
Man that can drive you around in
Barrel-chested trucks, will you come for me
When I am ready for you,
And let me take you out into the bonfires
Of the southwest;
And I wont cut my hair- and it will be just as gray
And silver as the smoke and the airplanes through it;
And you wont even have to look at me,
You can just cast your eyes high into those nets,
Dreaming of acrobats always falling through the burning
Serenity in
A pleasant though arresting way;
And I can keep a steady glance on you watching you like
A cat watches a child, full of daydreams and hunger,
So that when your eyes finally come to my own
I can return your foremost of senses;
And we can believe together that most of this is real.