for Maria
On the beach we ate the soft hot apricots I’d had in my bag all afternoon.
I kept the stone in my mouth for a long time: passing it along my teeth; storing it for a while in each cheek. Then I spat it into the sea.
When we got home, you gave me two smiles of white peach on a plate – I ate one and offered you the other, but you said no, they’re for you. It was straight from the fridge and cold against my teeth. You must’ve sliced it that morning because the plate was cold, too.
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