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Oct 2014
The way he blows the smoke out
his eyelids slightly lowering
I know he wants me

I touch my finger to the rim of the glass
tell another lie

There’s a way people draw things out of you
in strange places
veils lift
find new faces

All night he’s watched me behind a screen of smoke

And then the temperature reached one-hundred-and-ten, I say
so I just rappelled the rest of the way down naked

I look at him
lick the salt on my finger

Surprise crosses my face
not salt
but pomegranate sugar
the color of blood

He pulls my hand to his lips
his tongue a thick slug of suction
compressing my finger to the roof of his mouth

Teeth graze my knuckle

For several seconds
my eyes can’t rotate
Margrethe H K
Written by
Margrethe H K
       Pradip Chattopadhyay, ---, ---, m, Jay and 10 others
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