Lourthre

The aroma of your golden-orange glory
permeates my orifices.
It leaks into the holes for which it was
so perfectly cast,
quenching the cockles of an
ailing vitality.

The Leathery lac-ed toungue of your
determined pulsing presence
dibbles en dans mon esprit.
Wait, was I just talking about
food, music, or something else...?
...or perhaps all three?