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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

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


04.03.12


Like sleepwalkers, A and I shuffle from bedroom to kitchen in solitudes cut to our exact shapes, phosphorescent in the glassy gloom. Outside the city recovers from all-day hailstorms, in disbelief after a week of sunshine, bare legs, and 20C weather.






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