mustang wild,
stupid,
you have never been a creature of guilt.
this is our first difference.

you are an errant thing. flighty.
it is easier for you to say "i love you"
than it is for you to trust me.
this is our second difference.

the garden of eden is on my arm.
i would eat the apple, and apologise for it;
it is easy for me to say "sorry".
this is our third difference.

your bird-bones are going to break.
i cannot turn that into poetry.
perhaps, i will not shed my skin again. this is it.
this, too, cannot be poetic.

we have forgotten how to dance together.
but, re-learning each other?
that could be poetry.
or, at least, it could be something.