Everyone sat
criss-cross-applesauce
in our hearts.
Perfume is made
with dead things, right?
I try hard to sound
important,
when I write *******
because
there are bodies
reading this *******.
And bodies grow and wither.
They thrive and survive.
They get married
and die alone.
They die.
To become dead.
Perfume is made
with dead things, right?