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November 29, 2007
Our last day together we drove fast through the desert, into dusk, into night, the headlights cutting a swath of bright on the road, the signs, the cactus, the slow moving beasts. When we said goodbye we, never lovers, kissed. Over and over. And I giggled with the sense of nervous escapade. You said, “You giggle so that you won’t moan” and it was one of the clearest voices of my life. And we kissed again and I, accepting the moment, felt it rise from the center of my body up through my lips, my tongue, my breath to yours.