7:19

I’m still dreaming about
I was in your messy bed
the days when the stem of beauty was ever in
my throat
even if it never sprouted

every single thing was beautiful
or a type of beauty
and now I am in another room waiting
outside 

are you proud of me for going on?
I thought for sure you were the one god chose
to furnish my new 
skin, but it was the woman
through whom I came

the sufferings we choose, we should choose
well
the others we should feed like stray dogs
you were the one I chose

I thought the body in death would be reams 
of paper
it is more like a flock of light
on an old house with fading paint
a mercy of ordinary