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Feeding grapes

My dearest E.,

First the beers. Now grapes. You fed me delicious seedless grapes from a huge glass bowl on Thursday night while we watched TV.

Like the gentle whirr of a ferris wheel, not unlike clockwork, you popped the little grapes into my mouth, one by one, a cheeky grin on your face throughout. I struggled to swallow the grapes quickly before the next one came, your little fingers clutching the ripe red fruit and pushing them excitedly into my mouth.

You’re such a dear.

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