Rapt, in “Star Wars” sheets, with my hand across your belly, we waded through the watercolor. And drunk in your parents house, junk coming out of your mouth, we were buried in the ice sculpture, and you said “I would be anything that you wanted me to be, but how could I change my body?” I love the picture that your mother stole; dad holds out the tiny piece he'll release from his soul - before he flew up in the helicopter, before he swooped down as a door gunner, before God gave him the favor that meant he isn't getting others. He said “I would be anything that He asked me to be. I would be anything that He asked me to be.” In the line of duty, you can see into me. Do you want the new me? Do you want to get inside me? And how could I change my body?