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114.

Fingers stuck in time grazing complexions similar to cinnamon.

Feeling sweetness not too unlike the cinnamon that melts to create your skin.

My host mother hands me cinnamon to sprinkle lightly over softened apples.

I can't help but think of you.

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Written by

alexandria-rae-mason

American

Published: Mar 23, 2015
LinesWords: 441

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