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Impure rhymes with three figs
Today I have dedicated some time to three figs.
It's raining, I'm a coward, I stay in the house and pick out three figs because I want to invite one of them to stay in my little closet side dedicated to fragrances. Eieiei: Which side will I take? Which of the three will be mine? No easy decision!
Immediately, three figgy veils inscribe themselves in the sides of my hands.
one: Premier Figuier, three: Figuier Eden. One of the three, after a while, escapes a broad-legged soapy sandalwood-musk-slobbery overtone (Premier Figuier) - its flattering zeal seems richly one-sided to me. Too campy it sucks up to me. No, seems like Figuier #1 is not mine, unfortunately. That leaves 2 sides between which my doubting nose bone can't decide by any means. Both figs appear almost simultaneously, neither lacks vanity: Philosykos celebrates his own fighood immodestly, because he knows: his authenticity remains to be envied - his fig is immensely pure and clearly has nothing to confess: a simple round of his trinity of fig tree branches, accompanied only by quiet peppery whistling: Fig flesh, fig twigs, and paradisiacal green leaf-covering - (forgive here my "ei" writing perhaps slips). Simple and peculiar. Meanwhile, quieter, silkier, more insidious and subtle, the Figuier Eden fig rubs against the mandarin slices, almost stealthily, at the same time tempting the red pepper not to give in, to give legs to the shallow, white-milk moist fig. Both linger a little while, alas, not an eternity. And me? I can't decide...
It's raining, I'm a coward, I stay in the house and pick out three figs because I want to invite one of them to stay in my little closet side dedicated to fragrances. Eieiei: Which side will I take? Which of the three will be mine? No easy decision!
Immediately, three figgy veils inscribe themselves in the sides of my hands.
one: Premier Figuier, three: Figuier Eden. One of the three, after a while, escapes a broad-legged soapy sandalwood-musk-slobbery overtone (Premier Figuier) - its flattering zeal seems richly one-sided to me. Too campy it sucks up to me. No, seems like Figuier #1 is not mine, unfortunately. That leaves 2 sides between which my doubting nose bone can't decide by any means. Both figs appear almost simultaneously, neither lacks vanity: Philosykos celebrates his own fighood immodestly, because he knows: his authenticity remains to be envied - his fig is immensely pure and clearly has nothing to confess: a simple round of his trinity of fig tree branches, accompanied only by quiet peppery whistling: Fig flesh, fig twigs, and paradisiacal green leaf-covering - (forgive here my "ei" writing perhaps slips). Simple and peculiar. Meanwhile, quieter, silkier, more insidious and subtle, the Figuier Eden fig rubs against the mandarin slices, almost stealthily, at the same time tempting the red pepper not to give in, to give legs to the shallow, white-milk moist fig. Both linger a little while, alas, not an eternity. And me? I can't decide...
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