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by Bryana Joy

Poem For Whichever Of Us Is Left
I know how cold Comfort is I know
you have no interest in getting over it,
in sun or moon anymore, in beginnings.
I did not write this poem to say what
everyone is saying, no oh but you’re still
young!s, no timid have you thought about
dating again?s. No agains. I have come
carrying in my hands a gift as gentle as
feathers, as rich as the frail drumming
of a bird’s heart. Listen to me dearest.

This in whatever way it came was not
a surprise. Remember how we were
trying to prepare for it in every subway
car and on the airplanes we were often
taking together and apart? The low wail
of this thing was a theme writhing under
all our music. We put our ears next to it,
promised to find each other in any
universe if death isn’t the end. Still, we
took no chances, as you know, my
Always friend. This was why we kissed

goodbye each morning at the door no
matter our mood sometimes one time
sometimes kissing and kissing and you
leaving and then running back up the
stairs with your hair wet like ocean
your mouth as delicate as eager as a
swan dive saying one more one more

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