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SHE WAS EIGHTEEN.

She was possibility, distant, and had a stomach flat as an ironing-board’s surface.

He was golden, waiting, and kept pocket-ready the hope that flesh might surface at any opportunity.

**

She lay on her back in the woods: an opportunity. The whole world unfurled for her: distant possibility.

He flattened over her surface, and the whole world unfurled for him: golden flesh. Hopeful, he hovered, ready.

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