Sixteen songs have passed
And sixteen separate landscapes to wipe your hands with
And as I dream at night do I consider it
That a part of this doing is my half

Sixteen songs later
Sixteen quiet throats, yet I keep my mouth shut
And I shamelessly enjoy the gifts you give me
When we go to bed before I dream

Our love is in latin, it won’t last

Sixteen exhilarating chases, games, ever-expanding radii
Like irises on a road map, we flower through the countryside
We are an aneurism, we yell at walls, and we laugh
Sixteen family tree autographs

Sixteen sad songs, suicides, sixteen songs you keep on tape
Their last words bent into screams like pictures on TV
My dreams have become my trial
Seventeen’s my last