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Orchard

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They always say sweet dreams
Like they should be coated in sugar or dipped in syrup and brought to chapped lips with sticky fingers
I want my dreams to be succulent
Like overripe peaches with tearing skin dripping juice down heated cheeks to pool in the dent of my collarbone
Escaping down onto shimmering thighs
Until bruises bloom constellations tucked behind my shaking knees
Succulent




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