Who can see how this will end?

In pink-skinned babies,
with dark hair,
caramel eyes and leaden
hearts, like ours?

Or in two loveless graves –
full of all that could have been.

We must choose one or another,
we’ve seen there’s no third.

What I have not tried by way
of destruction;
you have tried thrice over.

Together we’ve seen an
ancient truth –

It’s love.
Or it is loss.

We cannot have both ways.

I will not be held in resignation –
not even (not even) by you.

Instead give me your strong arm
that knows its direction
and points the way that warms you.

You choose with the steel in your spine,
and I will choose with the fire in mine,

and let us stand in that grace
for at least one full moment
before we perish.

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