Freewill Of A Trance Poem by Robert Rorabeck

Each following word is like the freewill of a trance:
I can give roses, roses, roses,
And sun, and sea, and sun, and sea,
For I have spent most evenings laying on your floor
And watching you dance around the ceiling,
The fan spinning you like a marble in a pool;
But your lips, those open wounds, they belong to
Him who waters you,
And on your birthday you let all of yourself be taken
Into his hands, for him to say, how beautiful,
How beautiful, how beautiful, not believing
I could do the same: You have made wishes upon
His body, your body swollen with tears,
Each following word is like the free will of a trance:
I can give you roses, roses, roses,
But they have been stolen from beneath your sill,
Just as these words I have pulled up from beneath my tongue,
Stolen from a heart how pitiful: Won’t you turn now
And take them, and put them in a glass, and say thank you,
Before falling back into him like the freewill of a trance.