How could I prefer
The sun's violence ?
The body has righteous ways
Of washing itself clean,
Until there is but soothing white.
I selfishly believe in
The promise,
Humanity is cleared away,
Crouching under
The knee-deep surface.
And the soul
Let's its feet dangle
From the verge of rebirth
In the calmness
Of a season
So forgivingly dead.
How would I compare myself
To the summer's burns,
When I am but
The tender wish for hypothermia ?
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