/sure, but you won't find me drinking chanel no. 5 perfumes... or eating seafood pinching my nose shut... in the meantime... there's a problem regarding eating in general... the b.f.c.: bangladeshi fried chicken... blue-collar hindus... short-script: Ryans... love 'em to bits, every time i see one, i get a compliment on my ****** hair... should i marvel at my *****? not when Bangladesh and Sri Lanka gets to compliment on my ****** *****... that cheap excuse for ethanol, bound to the purple liquid, denatured alcohol? joker aqua? and how they "diluted" the **** via a sour crust slice of bread?! not to mention the homeless dogs... well... no wolves in england, merely foxes... and i'm happy, to share the night with them./

so much of what's termed
a palette, requires the sense
of smell...
            imagine, or better still,
drink a glass of
a diluted peach cocenrtate
mingling with
adam's tonic, i.e., water,
so pinch your nose,
and allow the glug to
pass past your larynx...
                almost everything
that passes your ingestioin
anatomy of the mouth,
nit exposed to the nasal
cavity, becomes tasteless...
to truly feed off something,
you need to smell it...
                how much
elongated the experience of
the mouth, when the nasal cavity
is allowed to carve a shrine
of a synonym...
              much
of the notion of a palette
resides in the nose...
    much as i'd like to appeal
for a surd, making the nose
with a K akin to a (k)nife....
         because i sniff out
            *******, prior to tasting it.
- so much of taste resides
in the nose...
          just as much tongue
resides in the term, ego,
as to disavow a hurdle's worth
of mind.