Love You Poem by Robert Rorabeck

I love you:
Airplane of angels or butterflies,
But Isn’t this just
About your last song:
Because soon we will have to cross the river
And learn to fight for ourselves,
Just to learn that this just
Wasn’t just another
Television commercial underneath the
Summits of whatever there wasn’t
Until now:
And I have been dying, while trying to survive
Forever underneath the playgrounds
Of the unreal sentiments:
And it is just a beautiful joy,
While you’ve been in bed with your husband,
And maybe the fire has altogether but
Burned out,
While they’ve been making love while
I bed:
Just another sanctuary, as you’ve been cuddling
You young- while just another number
Accounting to its heliotropes of
Scars- as then you are here,
And amidst the baseball diamonds- as it seems
For awhile,
As it just seems a place- and I’ve just
Been friendly out to any number, while the throats
Of any of my wrists have been wetted and busied
All throughout the number while they’ve
Been skipping school-
And then the song sang through the school-
Just as the busses turned around,
And then it became just as familiar as all of the unfamiliar
Turnarounds of any school-
As they’ve been according to the school books,
With any of their fires out- and I cannot
Breathe, while underneath the high school they’ve
Just been laying out- and you never
Know from day to day that this could be another
Thing of another beauty-
As this could just be the thing- as I could just
Know that she’d been smelling my echo of my one
True immotion through my emotional
Amusement parks of anywhere-
As your children just head home over the baseball games
Of just their anyways as just through
Their because- as I’ve been starving,
Trying to starve for myself- and this is just the song,
And I am not alive- but another amusement,
While not able to give up to whatever household
Or whatever beauty- just another line for the tenements-
And a beautiful number that cannot ever excuse
My amusements- but I come for you-
Unromantic, but filled with all of the presupposed
Catastrophes, as I suppose the very
Nature of it was through the natures of the rotations
Of the racehorses of all of its perpetual numbers-
Filling out amidst the graveyard-
Pillaging throughout the bedrooms as it was just as sensible
To believe.