@tibianchini
1 year ago
Public
Sulphite and Sin
The paper was white, naive, immaculate.
until the pen – that snake –
He slipped his poison on wet e-ves,
Filling margins with indecent verses.
The title? A disguise: "Not guilty sonnet."
But the body of the text, ah!, betrayed the utterance:
The verse was warm, the rhyme was burning,
With puns that nobody misinterprets...
And when the paint dried up, it was too late: no more excuses,
The sulphite shouted "more!" in italics and box-high,
while the pen is satisfied on the open sheets
rested – but only until the next agenda.
Moral of history? Even the purest of texts
becomes cultured pornography in the right hands...