On our anniversary,
we spend the evening
gazing at the stars
yet not as lovers do,
making wishes
on ones that fall,
but imagining instead
there’s an alien couple
on some distant
speck-of-a-world,
not quite as human as us,
with a few of their organs
flipped around,
but still the kind of people
we’d relate to,
not as deeply “in love”
as before,
yet enough
to never leave
the other,
and we wonder
if they think
they’d each be happier
in the arms of another,
if they too
have awkward silence
in the aftermath
of a quarrel,
if they believe that they can last,
at least, until the offspring
are all grown up,
if they envision
what it would feel like
to have their spouse,
unexpectedly,
pass away,
and if they’d ever survive
a frigid night
looking up at the sky
without them.
Andreas Gripp
RF Image
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