After, we spent days ticking through the calendar and solving for X = for the half-life of hell, for the porter of old Roman souls. When the seasons came we climbed out of the bunker, pale and squinting into our red giant sun, skin sprouting geese in the unfamiliar air. At the center of every snowflake is a speck of dust. When it began to fall they floated down like glowing ghosts. We wrapped our tongues around them and swallowed.














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