My kind of poetry

Remember that Sex and the City episode when Aleksandr Petrovsky reads a poem by Joseph Brodsky to Carrie and then she reads to him her kind of poetry, which is in fact a description of an Oscar De La Renta dress in Vogue? I think if I was there with them (which would be kind of weird) I would read this:

“Each different cheese is defined by a terroir, its flavour the result of that terroir’s grass, its animals, its wild flowers and herbs, its summer and winter pastures, even its chill winds and damp, dank winters, cold earth, decaying leaves and winter feed.”

– p.22, Where Shall We Go For Dinner? by Tamasin Day-Lewis

It’s my kind of poetry.

One thought on “My kind of poetry

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