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secret

if you and i were to
lie down, here,
in the bushes
and tear at each other's
clothes,
roll around and allow
the irreversible serrations
of the tall grass
to etch the memory of
the event
in our backs;
if we were to
arch our spines
and let a soft whimper
escape from our
ecstatically grimacing
lips;
if not for the
crushed, matted grass,
who would tell?

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