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Poem: D and Smoked Fish 

he brings smoked fish and

wedges of cheese that melt

oh, the heat from

our bodies.

jugs of kombucha

pickled sardines.

             he is proud of himself

             he is courting me

             he is, maybe? nervous.

i circle the kitchen table

we circle the kitchen table.

tear the bread

push the cheese into the opportunities

of the baguette

nudge the head off the kippered trout

             "shall we go upstairs," he asks

             letting me pretend to arrive at

             a different conclusion, a different response

             as if there was any answer other

             than a breathy, bursting, "yes."

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