A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

I wonder if you still have any interest
in hearing my darkest desires? 
There’s one I held back. 
It took a while to admit it, even to myself.
Even for a fantasy, it’s extreme.
Do you really want to hear it?
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
I imagine myself
overcoming my fears.
Vulnerable, I confess the truth.
I lied. 
You see, I told you I caught feels.
(That was true.)
And you asked me outright if I was referencing romance.
And I said no.
(I didn’t mean to tell a falsehood,
but being so certain I’d make a fool
of myself, I had not the words for truth.)
So now, in my most secret daydreams, 
I sit across the table from you
and tell you the truth.
I was scared to call it what it was, what it is. 
I don’t want to love you. 
I don’t want to muddy what we have
with messy feelings. But the murky flood waters
are lapping at my heels.
The tangled mess of feelings is here
regardless of my wishful thinking,
and if I’m drowning anyway,
does it matter if the water is clean or dirty?
My darkest desire is to tell you I love you.
And not to qualify it. 
And in my wildest fantasy, 
you say it back.