Cornish
I cup it in my hand like a puppy. Its tanned, supple skin is faintly shiny, soft.
I put it back in the brown paper bag and push the bag to the further edge of my desk. A scent of it escapes and coils through the air towards my nose.
Secret longing, sweet, secret lust.
This entry was posted on Thursday, January 27th, 2005 at 8:23 PM and filed under Old stuff. Trackbacks are closed.
A real one and not a nasty cheese & onion fakery? Eat it before it goes cold. Greasy flaky fingers.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 5:00 am | PermalinkAs real as you can get in this time zone. Real enough that it’s just as good cold. Real enough to make the rest of the world seem like a passing fancy, a mere shade, a whim, a dream.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 5:03 am | PermalinkActually, Lauren, he had two, the little piggy.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 5:05 am | PermalinkPiss off, the one I had for breakfast doesn’t count.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 6:03 am | Permalinkoh ? You play Gollum in the Lord of The Rings IV : Menace strikes again ?
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 5:05 pm | PermalinkI’m starving now …. hmf.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 8:03 pm | PermalinkMmmmm… pastry.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 9:05 pm | PermalinkAlthough, on reflection, I prefer my foodstuffs to be compared to puppies as little as possible.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 9:05 pm | PermalinkWhat - really, really teeny puppies, Norah? You bad girl.
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Posted on 28-Jan-05 at 9:05 pm | Permalink