i'll never be a poet

i long

i long for the day we run out of things to talk about
knowing full well that we know each other's hearts whole
and we can sit in silence with the pulse
pumping the rhythm to our harmony

i don't know if this is weird but can i
reach into your ribcage and
jab out your hidden wings
from shoulder blades unfurling
bone by bone the freckled skin pulled like
wax over wire, feathers into flesh? can i
realise your angelic form
cocoon my cold back in your doubled limbs
red crayon dripping down the line from my hand-slits, they
bumble over the humps of your blooming ribs
what beautiful roadkill, child
voice as smooth as the stream
honeying the folds in my mind.

i long for it all
but my rhyme is not for this time