the numbers slowly coalesced
and ignited in our throats
with the warmth of fresh blood.
we were discussing which stars above
were most likely dead.
“look how sadly that one shines”
you said, “it’s surely gone by now.”
but in space nothing dies,
it just gets cold and ceases to produce.
i am not exactly sure how that
actually differs from dying.

i sold my shoes that night
and tore my clothing down to my feathers.
“don’t you wish we were
somewhere across that harbor?”
oh, i could not have wanted
anything less than that.
light from the past streaked
wrinkles across my skin.
somewhere in the cosmic future,
the bets were laid on our passing.
spectral emissions as our only legacy.

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