Associating the Dissociating
— Ayesha Raees
By the curbside, pressing a citrus
in between palms, sweet sour
punch makes her feet
stick. She becomes the grit
she eats upon. She grows on.
Hollowing for a citrus seed,
my job now is to dig a trench
for her choke. There is no one
inside the palms we save with.
Once is an enough forever.
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