You were the Equator
You told me a story about my Antarctic feet, where I was a glacier
sliding over steaming green jungles like a slow song.
You said
about my hips,
how they fit into your hands so specifically,
thumbs pressing down on me
and my lips parting like a sacred sea for you
right before the moment (or two, or three)
when I thawed into nerves
and syllables.
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