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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


01.22.03, wednesday morning

For now, former sadnesses are abandoned. Into oblivion, the doubts get squished, nothing but tiny black insects disintegrating under emotions, memories, gestures, this unruly body, tender and grand, collecting between us, sharing and carrying it with us where we go.

Out the corner of her brown fawn's eye, Jolyne spies us and then shrieks, running barefoot into her cluttered room, into the darkness that she had made when she flipped off light, in order to cradle her cell phone under the sheets where she has burrowed deep, a ball of flesh and breath curling hot over a mode of communication that she could click on, if she dares.






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