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West Hollywood


The kiss. 

A line of police officers surrounds the church-going protestors, with signs that read, “You will burn in Hell” “And God said….”

I begin to snap photographs of this juxtaposition. A lesbian couple walks in front of them and I yell out, “Hey. Stop right there. I think you should kiss. I’ll take a picture.” I smile and they wave and turn to one another. The religious leaders begin to point and scoff. I take a photo. 

The layered imbalance, the showing of anger and disgust frames the women’s love, their passion. They stop and turn to say something to the men watching, jeering. I don’t know what they said, but I do know the men laugh. At them.

Then, a police officer walks by them, a female police officer. She dismisses their call to get the lesbians away from them. “Well, you shouldn’t have shown up to a gay parade then.” I laugh and give her a grand smile.

Found Object Collage



grabbed me in the bathroom years ago. Pushed me against the metal stall. Lips on mine. Her hands crawled up my body, under my shirt. Tongues entwined. Then parted. We separated then laughed. “No one can know,” she said. “They wouldn’t like it. It would get too messy.” Then she slid out of the restroom before me so no one would suspect a thing.

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