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  • There were three of us, in that cabin, by the lake, the year when we were amphibious, swimming in the hot afternoon, basking on the deck, in the squinting sunlight, we were always half-naked, lubricated, and we were young, and polyamorous, the bed was always rumpled, and the unwashed dishes had tomato stains, we slept at odd hours, waking at 3 am, sleeping at 5 pm, and we played checkers, card games, we drank too much coffee, too much bourbon, but the water, glistening, suavely cool, would replenish us, succor us from our hangovers, the mosquitos came at dusk, nipping at our ankles, the back of our necks, and sometimes when the two of them, one freckled fair, the other olive brown, were sleeping, I would read old issues of the New Yorker, I would daydream, imagining an eternity, like this, here, where the lichens were fuzzy green like a tennis ball, the dragonflies, blue like the eye shadow of a drag queen, here, in the murky water, the squishy bottom-mud, and the knock-knocking of a woodpecker, here, with the breeze, the sequin sparkle of the sun as it dappled across the lake, here, there were no tomorrows, no alarms, only a frog burping, only sunburnt lips, chafing against my skin, if paradise exists, it must be like this-virile and full of sunlight, so bright—it hurts.
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