To Death By Your Kiss Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Pull my teeth with warm Scottish whiskey,
And lay me down in the freshly cut pine of this
Nailed together coffin,
Just under the shadows of the truncated overpass,
Or anywhere,
Really,
And see if I don’t fit in quite nicely,
Me and all my scars, my half handsome beauty:
Then it will be like a used car lot on your dime.
And I can look up the sinful flow of my muses
Taught ribs,
The things she stole from me,
And the hot pink shorts in which she roller derbies:
And that will be that,
And you wont even have to put me down,
Or say you love me,
Because I will have felt for the entire afternoon
What it must be like to be vastly asleep,
Good and buried,
Like a virulent flower whose only desire is to be
Awakened to death by your kiss.