outwait outrun outwit





TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


06.29.01

Although you're faraway, scraping your knuckles against subterranean walls to make sure they're real and not made out of foam, I hear your voice waxing ecstatic almost everyday.

Yes! you exclaim, over the one startling line of an otherwise mediocre poem. Yes, you purr, nose twitching as it inhales the delicate aroma of a perfectly executed soufflé. Yes, you insist, Come see me in Paris.

Sometimes, I spy you in the languid--so languid it must be post-coital-- promenade of a young woman and think, it's as if you've never left.






<<

hosted by DiaryLand.com

free
web stats