The Just As Many Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Alma laughs and says we have to leap forwards:
She is so susceptible:
Like a seashell open mouthed waiting for the milk of her gut:
When we made love and her bellybutton filled with the resin of
Pearls:
She was still bleeding from her pregnancy with Heidi high up
In the Alps;
And even further over her shoulders, in the derelicts of
Pluto where nothing has to survive,
She was still singing in a chorus of new architects that could never
Prove themselves even in the confirmations of her little sister:
Then she wanted to break up with me
Around the fourth of July: we’d only made love four times; but it
Was the first honest love I’d had in twice as many years;
It was a bizarre science fiction that had to happen for god to be proved;
At least the last of many gods,
Like grapes on the vine, drooling open breasted for the lips of the
Fox;
And afterwards she didn’t want anything more to do with me,
But luckily we reconciled and have made love six as many times:
And it feels all right,
Even though my soul has lost itself underneath as many grains of sand
That lie relaxing on the uncountable beach underneath the breasts
And armpits of just as many housewives
Who afterwards will go home laughing, echoing in the autumns of
Their times the smiles of the lips of the just as many Jack O’ Lanterns.