Imagine a declaration of pent-up passion
to your soul mate greeted with smile spread
and eye drop. 'That's sweet.' To be seen as sweet
is to be dismissed as a player. A lower order
nice guy. Sweets come into consideration
only after the main course, the real deal.
Or as titbits on the side. Lightweights.
If so consigned, elevation's doomed.
If I sound like a sourpuss, so be it.
Sourness sharpens, awakens, challenges.
The suddenness - and shock - of sour,
subverts saccharine pleasure. Citrus tang
zips from the word go, cleanses tissues,
attacks your senses honestly, unlike
glumpy sweets, taste temptresses whose
siren call gut-wrecks, lumps you up.
Who'd want to be adjectived sweet? There,
there, you little sucker. Who'd have thunk
such an innocent reply could rouse such
a sour diatribe? Well, at least I'm not bitter.
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