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Many years ago,
under the influence 
of something weaker 
than witchcraft,
but stronger than black tea,
I kissed a man with a beard.
Our fathers worshipped 
different gods, but there 
was no mob that night,
no police, no FIR—
just wind and the taste 
of sand and damp salt.
I said, friend, I love you so much,
and that is where we left it.
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