I remember an afternoon in a tent, which we'd set up to give ourselves a
little bit of privacy. Her friends had gone into town and I stripped her
down and played with her and when she got loud, I covered her mouth with my
hand. I got a strong kick out of this, fucking another woman in the
heartland while unsuspecting families played just over the hill. Later that
evening, we sat around and got stoned in that tent, and I admired the creamy
white of her former roommate's skin. We lay on our backs and watched the
stars for what seemed like forever.
That, too, lives in me. The memory of the sublime lingers alongside the
memory of the traumatic and foolish.