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He looked at me like I was a sequence he couldn't quite master, all limbs and breath and stubborn refusal to find center.
The humidity has turned his hair into a riot of damp curls, and I have never wanted to fix a man’s alignment more.
She’s standing there in that silk slip looking like a tactical error I’m about to make with my eyes wide open.
She tasted like expensive dust and blackberries, her tongue pushing against mine with a demand that made my knees feel like they were made of cornmeal.