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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
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11.03.02, sunday afternoon

Quick, before I forget (as I am prone to forget even the objects of past desires, commitments now rendered as formerly): a eucalyptus grove on campus. Newly driven from L.A., my girls reminisce over past hijinks, former loves, and those traumatic moments that, years later, can no longer be so traumatic, but remembered chuckling.


Over a dry brook, tall trees shiver, paling in the late autumn twilight, the perfume sweet and sharp as my girls laugh. My girls, because even if we had a wildcatfight tonight, we know we have to make up before breakfast tomorrow.






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