(noun; sound)
Hark, can you hear it? Is that the rush of Chilean mountain air, or the
toot of the alphorn, perhaps the shriek of the red Milan?
Whet your ears— for they were virgin before this day!! Behold a tone sweeter than honey and more complex than gruyère. Let the drums within your ears drink their fill of Yanapi.
The sound of boyish charm and
stone-forged tenor, the distinct decibels of a whimsical barista
bent on cultivating only the most
sublime tastes. A warrior, *honorably* discharged.
When he speaks, you listen. When he cries, you
slurp his sloppy tears. When he screams and screams, you try to write the
melody. You try. you can’t. But you’ll never forget.
Curse you tectonic plates! For I was resting peacefully in the Pangea of Yanapi’s soul!
Hear the strings of his heart plucked and watch yourself become Solomon, shackled to Yanapi’s Davidic intent.
Some say pain and pleasure are brother and sister— but I say they’
re married!
