Lion Head Mesa [sc] [M] Diamonds Under my Eyes

The man-harlot savored the moment, the taste of the berry mingling pleasantly with the thrill of the game as he listened quietly to the information his acquaintance offered. 

Knowledge, hmm? he mused, his voice a soft, contemplative murmur as he traced the rim of his leaf cup with one delicate nail, the movement languid in its meditation. I daresay I'm inclined to agree.

It’s quite fascinating, really, he remarked, his tone light and conversational, Knowledge, as you say, is power, however, only when complimented by the wisdom to see the garden for the roses, no? His shattered-glass eyes flicked upward, catching the moonlight and reflecting it like fractured gemstones.

For example, Machiavelli continued, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, knowing when you're drawing one into a game... and when you're the one being played. He smiled, leaning forward slightly, pale throat stretched delicately so that he might peer up into hazel eyes directly. 

Tell me, Izaiah, he purred, the words soft and inviting, are you the kind of man that sees the roses or the garden?