agnelli
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My stories
A: Internal Reflections in Gems
I. Zircon, the Matara diamond, your glint is metamict; ancient artisans you never conned knew your mongrel spectrum, picked you out from grey-blue...
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- 675 reads
Lute Song (Lullaby)
A thorn-prick slow strumming shall lull you Into whooziness; then you shall Feel, not hear, the singer's breath Blow resonating finger-notes through...
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- 706 reads
Following the first time
Following the first time that we slept Entwined, I ceased to notice certain things. Jokes are still amusing, but there clings To every laugh a cold...
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- 683 reads
I Cannot Speak Turkish
I cannot speak Turkish but yet, and for a moment at least we meet in a wordless no-mans' land and gag from the back of our throats.
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- 785 reads
Two Fascinations
I. Leather suits you, fag smoke becomes you, haloes in a strange way. Other than that, you don't seem bound to much; your seasonal image wax-wains,...
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- 757 reads