Cottonmouth
my tongue travels through an ivory land of slick cliff faces, warm pink foothills, and incisors that cut sharper than lightsabers
you, one hand on my chest, the other cradling my head, running fingers through the hair I would’ve had if we’d met in college
together – a credit score that could choke an elephant, and enough health insurance for eyeglasses to see each other with
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The last line.
This one is my favorite.