Definitions by From Saint Agnes to Egypt
135
Do your eyes hold a hundred vineyards?
Red, glistening with tears, your face alight with fire.
I once thought:
A “hundred-year wine” is named so for its age,
but perhaps it is the wine whose intoxication lingers in the soul for a hundred years—
or even as lifetimes drift by, it never leaves the spirit.
How hauntingly familiar that gaze was to my soul.
Do you remember the times you poured it into me?
On the 1st, the 3rd, the 5th…
Even now, after more than ten years,
I have yet to free myself from its spell.
And simply recalling it sends me reeling,
Red, glistening with tears, your face alight with fire.
I once thought:
A “hundred-year wine” is named so for its age,
but perhaps it is the wine whose intoxication lingers in the soul for a hundred years—
or even as lifetimes drift by, it never leaves the spirit.
How hauntingly familiar that gaze was to my soul.
Do you remember the times you poured it into me?
On the 1st, the 3rd, the 5th…
Even now, after more than ten years,
I have yet to free myself from its spell.
And simply recalling it sends me reeling,
135 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 1, 2026
253
At midnight
And your voice—
A strange shiver, as if you have already been read.
253 at dawn.
Words arrive and hide themselves
In the memory of space,
Leaving only their energy:
The pulse of longing and desire,
The hum of yearning and wish,
The flicker of plea and craving.
Then comes a touch—
A brush of longing and tenderness,
As if from another world.
An eternal embrace, always open,
And a God descending to Earth
Just to make love.
Perhaps what goddesses and gods themselves feel.
Each cell in me inhales your presence,
And a limitless pleasure
Rises at the edge of suffering.
I remember your call,
As if whispering:
“Look at the clock, and tell me,
2:53.”
We both know what it holds.
In the darkness, I trace the numbers on the sheets,
Knowing you will receive them in white light.
And your voice—
A strange shiver, as if you have already been read.
253 at dawn.
Words arrive and hide themselves
In the memory of space,
Leaving only their energy:
The pulse of longing and desire,
The hum of yearning and wish,
The flicker of plea and craving.
Then comes a touch—
A brush of longing and tenderness,
As if from another world.
An eternal embrace, always open,
And a God descending to Earth
Just to make love.
Perhaps what goddesses and gods themselves feel.
Each cell in me inhales your presence,
And a limitless pleasure
Rises at the edge of suffering.
I remember your call,
As if whispering:
“Look at the clock, and tell me,
2:53.”
We both know what it holds.
In the darkness, I trace the numbers on the sheets,
Knowing you will receive them in white light.
253 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 1, 2026
820
always carries a story—
a story meant to remind you
that you are on the journey of 1111.
My dear, were you born in the Year of the Tiger?
Why did you appear in my dream as a tiger—
a white tiger,
beautiful, majestic, rare.
Wherever I went, you followed.
Suddenly I woke up.
In my heart, I felt it was you,
but I didn’t believe it.
I told myself:
the feline family represents femininity,
and I fell asleep again.
The dream continued.
I was in the tiger’s cave,
in its embrace—
gentle, playful, and magnanimous in presence.
A constellation of signs telling me it was you.
The white fur was not purely white;
it carried a temperature of pale blue,
reminding me of
18
Never once did its claws emerge
from between those beautiful paws.
Look at your hands—
I always do,
especially when you write.
And so many more signs...
my heart wants that dream
in waking life,
in your face.
I am alive
for that day.
a story meant to remind you
that you are on the journey of 1111.
My dear, were you born in the Year of the Tiger?
Why did you appear in my dream as a tiger—
a white tiger,
beautiful, majestic, rare.
Wherever I went, you followed.
Suddenly I woke up.
In my heart, I felt it was you,
but I didn’t believe it.
I told myself:
the feline family represents femininity,
and I fell asleep again.
The dream continued.
I was in the tiger’s cave,
in its embrace—
gentle, playful, and magnanimous in presence.
A constellation of signs telling me it was you.
The white fur was not purely white;
it carried a temperature of pale blue,
reminding me of
18
Never once did its claws emerge
from between those beautiful paws.
Look at your hands—
I always do,
especially when you write.
And so many more signs...
my heart wants that dream
in waking life,
in your face.
I am alive
for that day.
820 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 1, 2026
603
In silence—
suddenly your voice.
We speak.
I say:
man of the heavens,
god who lives within me,
my sacred man.
You reply:
shameless,
seducer,
you belong to me.
I search for you in the sky—
among light, height, and breath—
and you,
you hunt for me
through the narrow, shadowed alleys of Egypt,
where whispers linger like forbidden fire,
with dust on your hands, fire in your eyes.
Opposites—yet one.
Each of us hides the face we choose,
and bares the one the other demands.
Still,
between you and me,
nothing is truly concealed.
Beyond words,
love is truth itself—
raw and holy at once.
My soul, my heart,
whatever you desire,
whatever you utter,
I receive.
Divinity
is the air entangled with your breath,
and the wine
fermented in your spirit,
intoxicating my own.
suddenly your voice.
We speak.
I say:
man of the heavens,
god who lives within me,
my sacred man.
You reply:
shameless,
seducer,
you belong to me.
I search for you in the sky—
among light, height, and breath—
and you,
you hunt for me
through the narrow, shadowed alleys of Egypt,
where whispers linger like forbidden fire,
with dust on your hands, fire in your eyes.
Opposites—yet one.
Each of us hides the face we choose,
and bares the one the other demands.
Still,
between you and me,
nothing is truly concealed.
Beyond words,
love is truth itself—
raw and holy at once.
My soul, my heart,
whatever you desire,
whatever you utter,
I receive.
Divinity
is the air entangled with your breath,
and the wine
fermented in your spirit,
intoxicating my own.
603 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 1, 2026
A week earlier, I said with pride
that it had been eighteen months
since I overcame that obsession.
But exactly one week later,
I was lying in bed, drained,
so weak I could barely feel my body.
Into my empty mind came only one thought…
It had been eighteen months since I last saw you.
I missed you so much.
I never said I love you,
and now I might never get the chance.
Tears…
I felt strangely light.
I closed my eyes
and saw you clearly in front of me—
wearing a faded blue short-sleeved shirt, watching me
as if only a single breath lay between us.
Just this inhale and exhale
is all the distance we have.
Thank God.
What a beautiful experience.
When this breath ends,
you begin—
this time, without the pain of separation.
that it had been eighteen months
since I overcame that obsession.
But exactly one week later,
I was lying in bed, drained,
so weak I could barely feel my body.
Into my empty mind came only one thought…
It had been eighteen months since I last saw you.
I missed you so much.
I never said I love you,
and now I might never get the chance.
Tears…
I felt strangely light.
I closed my eyes
and saw you clearly in front of me—
wearing a faded blue short-sleeved shirt, watching me
as if only a single breath lay between us.
Just this inhale and exhale
is all the distance we have.
Thank God.
What a beautiful experience.
When this breath ends,
you begin—
this time, without the pain of separation.
18 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt February 1, 2026
1111
1111 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt January 31, 2026
17
My king, come to Egypt
and reign over her heart.
This land longs for you
and for your dominion.
Come and revive my green land.
Come—be life, be vitality.
You are the boundless joy and happiness of this earth.
My king, come to Egypt
and reign over her heart.
This land longs for you
and for your dominion.
Come and revive my green land.
Come—be life, be vitality.
You are the boundless joy and happiness of this earth.
17 by From Saint Agnes to Egypt January 31, 2026