deadrose; paradox. [She likes the way that the contradictory tastes]

Some might call it a disgrace.
She likes the way that the contradictory tastes.

A sip of bitter crema, a bite of turk sweet,
Lifes little paradoxes tucked beneath her very two feet.

She'll agree to play, but for the rules she'll barely obey,
flicking seconds away, and sneak far from every Inspector Grey.

Whispers of logic wrapped in absurd,
Calculating mischief, a favorite word.

Clever gold eyes, shrug at the fuss,
After all, the jokes always on us.

The world ticks on, blind to blatant jest,
She'll tuck your badges neatly into her vest.

A contranym, the paradox, she's only playfully shy,
in pursuing difficult ventures she feels so alive.

For otherwise, she will remain between the tick and chime
of lonely, bitter-sweet safe, boring old space-time.