I’d like to bury all my clothes.
I’d give them a grand tombstone
with fancy bevels and deep inscriptions.
I would forget the flowers, dismiss the grave,
and no one on earth would mourn them.

I’d be impossibly nude
and I could cleanse my soul and wash my body.
I’d scrub my skin so clear I could watch the deep red
silent, tragic blood run through my veins
as it drains my lonely little heart.

I’d bleach that blood and spill it out
to remove old scarred skin stains and sad stale memories
and once I’m clear and smooth and free

I’d fall in love

redden my heart
scrape my knee
toughen my skin
cover it up

and repeat.