The Browned Sunlight Of Alma's Boisterous Eyes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Now you have to go to sleep with your man,
So that it what you do,
And you promised me you didn’t want for anymore children.
But you still let me make love unprotected to you,
As if the airplane was never touching down,
So happy with so many imperviously naked stewardesses
Flitting from the ports like dripping flowers,
While behind them the mountain is another thing entirely:
Monstrous,
With hickies on its shoulders, like mine, the diminishing birthmarks
You gave us in between lunch and supper time,
That will melt like the snowdrops, like the tears metamorphosised
From the brown sunlight of Alma’s boisterous eyes.