Succulent soup, translucent tongue
Picture my original kiss
Comfort when the glass is bitter
But is it good, or was it this?

Prisoner of his unctuous voice
Almost once above the mushroom
Symbol in an empty kitchen
I never liked to lick that treacle

Cunning-you-osity killed the clam
Hot steamy death, I chew, I am
Moist and tender, deep and raw
Bleeding, throbbing smoky noir

Groaning, moaning breathless sighs
Parted lips and open thighs
Estrogen's a troubled dish
Tastes like chicken, smells like fish