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.




~ by Bombadil on July 19, 2011.

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