The Limestone Of His Flesh

Poem By Robert Rorabeck

Pornographies, sisters of the sinister thoughts
Selling to the rattlesnakes
Already devoured by the road:
One of her spiked shoes already cast away in
The amber weeds: they are sway—
They are two high—
The traffic sounds like snow, the airplanes like
Sky:
They cross her and go into the parks of the
Oceans—
They learn to fly. Beneath them, where the
Sun rolls, the roads are made of shells crenulated
Into a skin shed from the giant she lays upon:
Her lips the basalt he nibbles, groaning with
Rivers carrying in the limestone of his flesh.

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