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Nothing, it seemed,
could have been further
from his mind than
my rape. Though I
sat with my thighs sealed
together like the opposite
faces of a wound, only
solicitation moved
along his tongue. When
my lips cracked, he sent
one or another of his
ghosts with a chilled gob-
let, head bent low though
those eyes can see through
the cap of any skull. When
sweat flocked to my
face, he ordered the
leaves to shake, as
though in a true
wind, one fruit fall-
ing, its skin bursting
open into my lap, moist
seeds spilling, one by
one, like drops.
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