The Last Time We See Each Other in the 20th Century

As we kiss good-bye
in the middle of a Brooklyn street,
you whisper:

“Sleep with whomever you want.
Just don’t hold hands.”

For 31 years,
virgin palms press
against swinging doors,

against each other
in desperate agnostic prayer.

I hug other mourners
inside a church basement
when one of us leaves too soon.

I hear my name
expertly delivered
in a voice no one can touch.

I turn around
to face you—
my hands free.

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3 thoughts on “The Last Time We See Each Other in the 20th Century

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