This isn’t right.
This is wrong, yes?
Who do I remember?
You then, when you were still young
Or then, when your transformation
didn’t shock but intrigued?
Or then. When you’d gone too far
disfigured, body dysmorphic?
What do I remember?
The 1986 letter I never sent
saying maybe, one day, we could marry?
Or the music that filled childhood afternoons
classics that filled dancefloors?
Or the twisted media obsession
old skeletons that wouldn’t lie down?
What should I remember?
Maybe just the music