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Bring the cup of horchata, the trays of pineapple
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I’ve kissed lips darker than yours.
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A bird and a tree say to him: Friend.
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Day of automatic altars. Day we tip
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may you kiss
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like a quiet happiness that comes
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You can have the purr of the cat and the soulful look
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When you appeared it was as if
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as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where
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And have we room
