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Published on Jul 10, 2012
I'm stuck between lemons and sugar. I pucker at their sour, yet there is no one to kiss good-bye or hello. I coat my lips with sugar like winter has come early and the sweetness falls around. I'm no angel. The only shape my arms make in the snow are one of desperation. He notices me by the way I grit my teeth, can't tell if it's determination or stubbornness, wonders what the difference is, who I am, who he is, who we would be together, would I be under him or on top. He rightly guesses that my wild blue yonder is the last thing I think about at night and the first I forget about each morning. I deny everything. I place my hands in my pockets and ask for a cup of orange juice.