We poets are the tastiest of folk; just ask any au courant…..poet.
Free range Organic, and fed a strict diet of artistic integrity and cheap Pinot noir.
Soft but dangerous hearts: marinated in hopeful tragedy; or perhaps tragic hope. Garnished with cryptic pretentiousness…. I mean soulful peripateticism…. I mean absolute premeditated pseudo benevolence (yeah that’s it).
Serve with dismal jaded truth as your beverage; yes it’s a bitter drink but it’s an acquired taste.
At last finish with fantastical escapism as your dessert wine; when you are full, continue drinking.