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What times we shared beneath this gloaming skin
splashed and treated with Florida water,
hushed and prayed over to free us from sin
–though Alcolado Glacial is better:

Like a freestyle beat tense and firm we light
out in the cold drawing smoke from our chests
while the night sky shies from the back porch light
paving cracked asphalt with our blank guesses:

There’s no point to moments like this but grace
and permanence in the So Flo evening,
puddles greased with third-rate G-funk and bass,
trunk stereos dripping as rainbows ring:

The grass itches if you sit down too long,
so loiter on the green box for one more song.

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