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102 Sweet Sweet, because—for once—I wasn’t looking for love. That’s when it happened: you saw me in the airport; I hadn’t given you a first glance. Sweet we shared a tropical destination, and sweeter that once there, by chance, I sat at your communal table. Sweetly you said we were from the same city, and again, sweet the way something amber in you spread across said table, like tectonic plates, like spearmint candy in a bankrupt mouth. Then the easy idle of the vacation week at your side: our bodies burning and browning, white sand in your black hair, the syrupy booze which fueled our dancing each night. Sweeter how you offered to share a cab from the airport into our city. Tonight, I picture you in your room. Think how my beach-kisses tasted: spiked pineapple juice, urgent stubble. Beyond everything rational, you’ll think of me as you taste them again in near-blackness with your lover. ...

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