Before I let you love me, my heart will have to finish the untitled document
it’s spent months waiting to complete.
It’s a requirement that you spill your guts for me
so I know if you have any guts at all.
Tell me about the way pianos sounded like pain underneath your mother’s fingers
but wine underneath your father’s,
how the first time you picked raspberries you didn’t understand
how beautiful it was until years later, when you held someone’s hands in yours
and examined all the stains, the nicks and callouses
that crossed all their lifelines.
Before I let you love me, I have to be sure
you’ll let me cross yours.
Because no matter how much you trust someone,
we all eventually end up as ghosts.
One more thing, before I let you love me-
I’m the one that’s been haunting your back door.
I never wiped my feet on the welcome mat before slipping silently in
because as I said before
we all eventually end up as ghosts
and our footprints and fingerprints
don’t trace the paths we’ve been