TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile
Spring is a hussy. Skin tingles and heart races as blooms burst and birds pierce the softening soil. Blackbirds summon mates with blue-black voices. Around the campus green, crows erect lofty nests; seeds and loose unused tree bits fall down and down, to crown the heads of youth. I watch the girls loosen their coats and let their hair wave over their shoulders. Oestre spreads her seeds. The directive: fornicate! and me, oh me, I will have to settle for antihistamines instead. For now.