Labyrinth of the bitter and the sweet,
of the ripe seasons before the harvest,
of the mistaken expressions in the exact forges,
of the dead sweetnesses around the fruit,
of the depraved acids the blockade the tactile strategems of the afternoon,
thick walls of a climate that should have been future,
more future than the weather of any future day.
Taste drives mad like a thread of blood that misses its vein .
Even the central trunk falls outside of the forest.
by
(Roberto J.) I just love this piece awesome that I had to share it with you.
