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Double fold vanilla ice cream

By Rushika Ramani

Copyright ©2023

5AM on a winter solstice,

Nipples poking through satin; Doesn’t come

Close to a slow burn like this.

Nor does being buried

By an undertow, when the

Wave breaks overhead

On the cusp of

The melrose station and his

Burning scorpion gaze

Butterflies swirl like cold smoke

Milk white drop of

Arousal; and I am nestled

Between his lips

Oh god,

Where is my mind?

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