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Cayo.

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The colors are brighter here.
And wetter.
The plants are pointier,
and the streets steam,
and the birds and cars scream.
Voices weave snug together
and hair curls tighter than
your aunt's pantyhose.

The people are brighter here.
And wetter.
Their teeth are pointier,
and their skins steam,
and they make my heart scream.
Blood quickens in proximity to saltwater.

I will never leave.



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