if you asked,
i would open my ribs
like the doors of an abandoned church.
you could walk among the ruins,
touch the dust upon my lungs,
read the names i carved
into the walls of my heart.
you would find yourself everywhere.
even in the places
where i begged god
to make me empty.
i would let you
unmake me slowly;
peel the years from my bones,
pluck my heart from its red cathedral;
leave nothing but the architecture
of having loved you.