Then there is death. Supposedly I'll go
before you – will you grieve when I am gone
or secretly feel glad because you know
your privacy no more intruded on,
no more annoyance at my looking wrong,
no more hot anger at all things missaid
when you forget I ever gave them tongue
and no more awkward fumbling in our bed?

If haplessly you'd be the first to die
will I be inconsolable, and stare
at nothing while I hurt my hands and cry
because the loss is much too hard to bear,
or will I sit there with a bitter grin,
reflecting that I lost you long ago
before life even managed to begin -
so that not even this could hurt me so?

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