How We Close Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I dreamed that I loved you
All made up like a burlesque debutant
At a funeral,
And that is the best of what I can say of
You,
Because of my rum and immortality:
That you are a beautiful girl,
S-,
And when it comes to the hardness of each and
Every night,
I am a needful man,
But you are married;
And yet you are as sweet and scientific
As Bengy’s sweet and scientific kite,
And I want to jog and need for you in new old ways,
And I want to break into high schools for you and
Remember the good old days:
The ways you never held me,
The ways you made fun of me,
And forced me into the library,
And made me think up these things,
And all the nights spent like a paper snowflake,
Cut up and lonely,
Always drinking like cut flowers,
Visiting prostitutes and visiting lies:
I just want to plant myself between you pale and
Milky thighs,
And that is just what I do with my narcoleptic
Hullabaloo:
I just do this,
And imagine us both lost together in a train that
Was never to exist,
Lost in the movies, and lost in Greece, spinning the
Lost and sexy road:
It curves and curves like Wolf Creek Pass which is now
Closed for the winter,
And all the better mountains weep naked and white:
Naked and white,
Naked and white- Thinking of you, S-.
And this is how we close.