Time does not go beyond its maiden name.

And anyway, right now, everything tastes good.

All the male poets’ poems, and dirty, dirty chocolate layer cake.

I swallow it with a glass of milk.

The crumb crawls down my throat

and enters me. The power of Christ compels,

     not I—but the wish to be changed—

everything is challenged

by the sudden flame of joy—

how uncomfortable we are with happiness.

- Bianca Stone