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Nights in White Jasmine

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It was an electric summer night when I had my first kiss. 

I walked her home and when I stopped to say goodnight, she didn’t give me a chance; like a spring into my arms, lips pressed hard against mine, the jasmine hedge behind me, we fell into it like a daydream or a fever, and didn’t let go.

Her face is lost to me, but in the clouds of jasmine I see her eyes again; in that fragrance her arms are around me still; our lips press again, lost in the haze of a bloomsday.

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