Another Dreamt Miami

Streets are hot like an oven,
the air all around us. Like it holds you.

You’re wearing the dress I bought you and
we’ve got 6 pastelitos de guayaba which
glaze our fingertips and color our
fingernails pink. They stay pink.
I don’t have to try hard at all to want you.
I just do.
I want all of it.

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