Hard At Caressing Your Tide Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Conquistadors like waves buried away,
Like beautiful orchards the Zephyrs suckle:
They comb over the pine trees on their way to filibuster
My old uncle;
And you are on your way like something quit sincere,
The crux for every fable:
As you go whistling along your way, I draw your this
Still life on its table:
And in my mind your daughter burns like an effervescing
Candle;
And my sea of yearns reaches out to grab your sweet young
Panhandle, and serve myself breakfast from you in turns:
Your breasts the meat of a poultice for my flesh,
And your flesh the surcease of a poniard’s aloe:
And I wish for you with every breath, as if a musician through
The fluted hollow;
Coming up upon me like the crest of every tide, ever part upon you
Like the wedding of a bride,
Filigreed and kindled, you come stepping side by side,
My wishes upon your body echoing like coins skipping through
The orchards of a mermaid’s pride
Until I have all of my wealth planted deep inside you, and you have
Come out to feel the cool of my words spoke to your lips,
Allowing my thoughts in like paper ships who in tomboy armadas
Work so long and hard at caressing your tide.