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I can never forget the ceviche.
Every time I juice a lime, there's you in my kitchen that day.
Table set, meal prepared, tequila cocktail at the ready-
all that love squeezed into all that raw pink.
Me, work-weary & you, like silver, just polished.
Serving shine. I smiled so wide
a circus set up shop on my chin
and used my lips for trapeze.
A hologram of the nothing that once was something.
Fresh citrus sting from fingertip to heart-folder: open memory.
I am switching to the bottled kind to practice kitchen safety.
I do not wish to squeeze.
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