The Recreational Deltas Of Your Soul Poem by Robert Rorabeck

The Recreational Deltas Of Your Soul



If I am here, you are here, counting our
Wounds,
Blessing our virginsitas standing on our windowsills
Propped up in a place,
And I saw your browned body on Christmas:
Alma: your daughter kissed me and felt like a
Wave leaping out of the sea,
And telling me things that I couldn’t hear-
The cars were like stars on the streets,
And in two more weeks there will be a fair:
So the bodies move, surcease and recreate-
Recreational plateaus over easy through the city;
And the family, bless them- Won’t you?
Green as the favorite colored world in your eyes:
The only though I have all day:
When will you cross my lonely threshold another
Time:
And when will I imbibe the liquor off the recreational
Deltas of your soul.

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Robert Rorabeck

Robert Rorabeck

Berrien Springs
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