it’s sticky sweet outside, our sweat

clings to our half-naked bodies like exes

and the sun only grows hotter

on the veranda we do not hold clammy hands

we talk politics we don’t agree with, holding

masks to our faces as passerby

cloy behind hedges like koi in a pond

the sun hides our sins from indoors

private life that could kill us if

it got out like a rabid dog

beyond the next block, a church bell tolls

for now, nobody notices

we aren’t drinking lemonade

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