So Very Very Young Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Words knick knocking in tombs-
I can smell you when you are not around;
I can smell you like a bull of a god,
Like canyons of coral where cheerleaders bloom:
All of it in the pastels strung out and happy in
Sprees of shoots;
And your opal birthstones why they are just as happy
As naked pearls in the sky as crisp
As an apple or a new book;
These words I’ve stolen from under the pressure washed
Hinge of her skirt or the carport;
And I wake up and its getting past Monday:
I know I will see you if I drive around enough.
Look at the flagpole pushing up the tent in my trousers,
Watch the matchstick lives of my dogs burning away
When I am not at home:
Feed them hamburgers in your buff:
And your eyes like the glaciers of refrigerators
Trolling for tongue;
I love you Kelly, but you are still so very, very young.