there is a wind-gentle man at home whose love mystery Ophelia is out in the woods picking nightingales tongues and skipping to the tunes she hears only within to claim that love to claim that love these nightingales build fine english castles i Ophelia and Medea in lesbian embrace will bear the child conceived on the night of the aphrodesiac codeine - insensible and allergic but it is yours sheep sculpted of clay have been smashed woolly pots sweaters of the could-have-been but the sweetest teapots are eaten by harlots as beaver after beaver passes through my hands superiority comes with secrets that are not secrets - exclusivity of sexuality (self) is the triumph but i will not achieve my secrets would be your secrets could you sit within the chambers of my ears and listen to the mutterings of my brain in constant stutter-repetition in the skullish cavern the seem is greater than the is skipping Ophelia skulks Medea daintily duality freedom! cry elly and iphy in vain (copyright apology) Jormungander (and his representative on the bookshelf) twist into symbols of infinity contorting spacetime in the process and Ophelia dreams on love in claims of secrecy and the more romantic for it whispered across glass panes you claim that love