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| Image - newlatina.net |
Outside, the still
of
crickets.
Inside,
petals
of
a cold sore
foliate,
a
boutonniere
for
full lips.
Looking
up, I tell her
two
eggs, basted,
hash
browns,
coffee
now.
Later
on,
she
says
the
birthmark
I
found
south
of her navel
she’s
had
all
her life.
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