Feb 26, 2021
2 min read
Anonymous Espials
3 am struck, it tolled, muffled as though it was breaking through the lining of the drenched tatters on the textile of the night
The stars, came ever closer, detached from their glow, they dolefully rivaled the glaze of an aphotic faience
They those, unnamed sprites of the sky, transient, they quickly crossed the pane of inexistent time, a Terpsichorean angel, shadow dances on laconic lines of the cornices…
