At twelve we dunked lemon in salt
all borrowed and chuckled at the taste on our tongues
climbed the fence between us and them, for a taste
sharp for our throats sneaked salt in pieces
from other men's oceans distilled
at twenty four, on the verge of goodbyes
we know, that lemons falling on your side of the fence
taste tangier, have more options of mixing
than with stolen salt, peels buried in the backyard.
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