The Forbidden Perfumes Poem by Robert Rorabeck

A grandfather clock is saying something
Atop your roof, underneath the clouds: but if you
Were listening
Would you hear it underneath the helicopters whose
Heads are so amused
And brightly painted: they last like hummingbirds
Underneath the moon;
They drip like bright candy off the noon,
As you go outside and turn around in your little yard.
To see you world is not very hard:
There is your world, right under me, a cat
Whose cradle is infinity- and all of the stratas of
The earth are your dressing rooms,
And your neighborhood is just the constellations
Changing clothes- I will try not to look at
You-I will try not to smell the forbidden
Perfumes of another’s rose.