the salt I taste on the tip of my tongue is not from her, I
only pretend it is, salt, lemon, a shot, drunk again on her, on the salt and
lemon and shot I still dream I drink from her cup, the juice is semi sweet as
is the shot I take to get over her, the salt and the lemon hiding the
bitterness I should not feel, a bitterness long past yet not the in the inebriation,
the salt the lemon the shot, filling me up when I can't get her, the soul
churned up on that sultry afternoon, the naked sunlight spreading across the
bed sheets, we stirring it all up. the scent, and that lemon twist I kiss, then
the shot, the mist, in the twilight, I peer through, then the salt, the lemon
and then one more shot of her
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