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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


09.26.02, thursday afternoon

My ears are hot to stranger's touch and burnished cherry-red. The skin that wraps tightly over cartilage has been so itched by absentmindedly guided fingers in the last week that it is ridged. I read these ridges, looking for signs of alien life. (Must. Get. Coffee. And. Leave. This. Horrible. Office.)




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