The draft

This is a connoisseur’s world,
a society with a bitter tongue
that has no taste for romance.

This is an editor’s world,
with a ring in its nose and a red disposition
to charge at the cape of emotion.

It’s alright, I understand,
that anvil round your neck prevents you;
forged by a blacksmith who never learnt to love.

This is a foreign world;
these words are not of your language.

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