Of gardens, and fountains in which you cannot drown,
pink clouds, and the sheen of skin drawn over bone
like a well-made bed, smoothed down. A gown made of silk,
hordes of silkworm ghosts reanimated as light as you walk
along the street, under the moon. Every beautiful body
has a skeleton inside, embraced by flesh. Will you go steady
with me, this is what we want, perfect loveliness paused,
not watching one another as we unravel, and are erased.