In one room a man and a woman are meeting for the first time.
their lips are still strangers, and their thoughts blind to the man
next door, who is carefully tearing stripes of paper into heart thin
markers for a grave he designs for himself on the floor
under his bed. They did not plan what is happening to them,
and he hauls the iron bed back in place every morning.
Neither knows where love shall take them.
They know only that they are like everyone else
in similar situations. I doubt they realize
the truth of their situations, nor would they care.
No one can say if it is right or wrong.
Their time has come. They lived more than most.
They may live some little bit more.
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