If I leaned out the window and called you a peeping tom, would you finally admit to your indiscretions?
or at least do me the favor of recalling mine?
the ones you recorded in your nightly ledger?
If I put my hand out and offered you this olive branch,
would you clasp your fingers in mine and then let me teach you the art of forgiveness?
or at least do me the favor of playing Houdini when I look over my left shoulder,
in shame,
in disappointment?
could you? would you?
If I put my lips upon your lips,
would you show me the empathy I always needed from you but never deserved?
or at least,
at the very least,
would you hold me?
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