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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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