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ECHOES
Meditations on a Plum by Anna Ziering
No matter how fleshed and purple, there is the bite of yellow bile at the back. The curve of her cheek dimpled under the plum-lit moon; his fingers playing on her face. The fruit of Eden must have been a plum; the flow of round wisdom and a sharp afterthought. Drugged juices like wine from oak-laced barrels wind between those fingers.
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by Allyza Lustig
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