Trade-Off
A universe profoundly indifferent to the tongue.
The world’s taste is indeed absurd:
an anonymous song of doubt and rebellion;
an instrumental composition of questions;
points, counterpoints and their repetitions.
On One hand:
The slow moaning winds, the gently kissing breeze;
a perfumed gust of air from your lovely wet hair;
wildness, wings, wine, cherries and cheese.
On Other hand:
The hot sweat of swollen storms, the sun gets tanned;
the crimson sky yields, it descends down fields;
ultraviolet promises arch, the entry is banned.
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