He forgot to draw my eyes
He drew my lips but they could not part
They are rose-colored pillows resting on my face
Curved as a smile for his comfort
He kisses them every morning
Gently with a grin
He sketched my ears, so I can listen to him
Ramble about his day as I sit there in silence
He whispers, “I love you” every night
He gave me hands but they cannot move
Yet I can feel the weight of his grip
Every time he would hold them
I cannot see his expressions
Nor can I answer his questions
(Although he already answers them for himself)
I lay there wondering if I am unfinished,
A rough draft, a forgotten piece of work
Then I heard the pencil drop
He brushes my cheek and says,
“You are my masterpiece”
He wraps me with his arms
Unwilling to let go
I let myself stay still
Until another muse comes along
Dear Juliet 