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We’ve ridden our little fete
to this calamitous end
as dead and directionless as a 7th novel
in a six novel series.

And we’re tip-toeing away so
we won’t disturb each other
though both we’ve said so many times
are we disturbed at all?

“I’ll miss you,” comes from my mouth,
though I know you were gone
long before leaving as echo
Your wonderful voice scraping
the ventricles of my shrinking heart