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It has been two years
and still I wish on lights
I know have died
long before I see them.

It has been two years
and still you keep me
sending breaths to spaces
that have never known
to listen.

It has been two years.
You keep me holding on
to severed parts
of bodies just as lifeless.
You are upsweep and whistle,
brontide I'd rather misconstrue.

Cordelia, you are abrasive
and I was never tough,
but my fingers are calloused
and my hands compliant.

Your empty bellows
are all I believe in.
You remain the claws from which I dangle-
more than falling, I fear not being held.

— The End —