i want to be a writer
i want to build you cathedrals out of
paragraphs and
catch your footfalls with my pages
you would laugh, not soft or delicate
and you would run
and i would keep turning pages
rewriting love
if you needed a change of pace

i want to be an artist
i want to crush berries against our skin
to make a color you've never seen before
you would grin and
it would stain your fingers
and you would stay
for a bit

i want to be a poet
silk falling from my tongue
in trellises and
you'd catch it and weave it around us
like a battered quilt
worn but well loved
and the words would keep us warm