Can I call you birdie?

What if I told you I'm not willing to move a finger to hold you back?
Would you come over tonight to get angry at me?
What if I told you that I don't mind dying alone, surrounded by cats?
What if I told you I lied to you all this time?
What if I told you I'm scared to death?
Would you come to rescue me even though I know it's imprudent to ask you to rescue me?
Would you put your hand on my forehead?
Would you bring me a cup of malt to bed?
Would you read an unpublished poem to me?
What if I told you I'm not willing to tell you how often I wake up thinking of you?
Would you love me more or less?
May I be silent and then talkative?
What if I told you I'm not willing to move a finger to hold you back?
Would you love the freedom that manifests?
Or would you want to be free, but with me?
You know when you rest your autumn head on the bus window and the sun shines on your face?
Did you see how beautiful it is?
How long have you been this cute?
Can I call you Birdie and comb your bangs?