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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


06.04.01

the first days of summer: neapolitan ice cream sandwiches; laughing despite blood blooming on my scraped knees; lying in the bed of Daniel's moving truck, the stars seemingly fixed as the trees and the buildings shift shape and murmur color; impromptu watergun skirmishes; grilled salmon & steaks fries for dinner; Kevin's description of Foucault as "a sexy, sexy writer"; Miromi's midnight tales of Berlin; scarlet cheeks from too much sangria; a flurry of yearning sounds: a plucked cello, trumpet sighing nasally, toy piano tinkling sea bird cries, Mel's flirtatious laughter, like thighs rubbing against each other.





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