Part Two

Long ago, you used to tell me how different our life would be

that we were something extraordinary

you being you

and me being me

and me being you

and you being me

And during the storm you held my head back and told me not to swallow

nestled next to me

in the darkness

I held your hand and followed suit

tasting less and less of the blood as the night wore on

There were photographs from the first day

that year

and that year

and the year after

that would one day be the lasting daguerreotypes of our siblinghood

and the way they would remember us fondly

The hippocampus would be our friend

the constant advocate for the worth of our nostalgia

and we would hold strongly to each other

in our bunk beds

in our old age

with our clasped hands

and bent legs that fit only together with each other

Because we were

--in fact--

extraordinary