it’s not beautiful to imagine myself as dead. it’s not beautiful to think about what I could have been. it’s not beautiful to imagine a soldier

dishonor this and ruin                            our gift. our touch

a maneuvery of punctuation. they have fucking names. I have

one you,           have one. to

to you not the. or architecture or peace. that is just so beautiful. sometimes I feel dead. thats just very hard to say. because of chance

the bottom of things always imagines more. it’s what my sex kinesiologist stated. my name means I need you.

,

but I’m not dead. and I share a sky

I have porridge

I don’t want ‘you’ to lose ‘you’ how do I do this

aggravating

how one does half way with all of this

I have never met another soul so whole