FreeWrights Peer Review™

Quite the dexterous arms you have, my dear,
who stretches behind those eyes
and rearranges the flowers seen, or shared.
Who blackens the pith with crayons shade
and twirls this death between sad fingers,
and beams a smile at the sister who will
never find true love.

Quite the world you share with shadow,
and lights you rig. Quite the breath
that lets you live, and sure the hands
that splice it all together, and
hear the soundtrack in your head.
You hum 'moonriver' as
you lose your head to the storm.

He never comes. No matter how
many times you call out the name.
Sweating, grasping at the sheets,
pinched cheeks, sly whispers;
drowning in the rain.