something in me wants you to make promises you can’t possibly afford
will you be there to cry with me?
and not just be there, but actually cry, make water with your eyes?
if I have another Black Tuesday,
will you lie next to me and coax breath into my lungs?
when my eyes glaze over in fear and my chest trembles and I can’t see or hear or feel
will you undress me gentle and sit with me in the shower –
will you sing me lullabies and wash my hair when I have racked the wrack of myself?
will you know what in absentia meant (now and then) and be there even when you’re not?
(is this the measure of our love? hush, silly girl)
will you be patient while I babble over the smooth stones of my joy?
will you grin and take my hands in yours?
will you offer me your tumbled gems and show me how the light and dark move through them?
will you come to the water with me and hold my home in your hands?
will you write me into your life, and sign your name on my parchment skin
and share this rhythm and this rhyme?
will you sing with me?
will you want to stay?
will you stay?
I don’t know how to tell you that I think I promised you these things before I ever met you and I don’t know how to
if I should
if I even want to
take them back.