A cloud of texture that stings in pleasure and it  goes down as smooth as a snail, delicious and silky. Touching every aspect of food itself, with every bite, a spicy rain drop slides across a tanned cheek as it burns my insides cause smoke to eradicate the unwanted, the troubles of the human body that haunt each corner, of the red, gum like walls. That separate the heart to the jealous inferior as they don’t have what I have inside, with every bite of that creamy egg that ouzzes like the open tap of honey. Sweet and sticky, combining with the juicy, melting pieces of pork that heals the hungry heart as it bites every greasy, juicy pieces of pork with it’s sharp jaws. Steaming out along side it, in jets, the remaining smell of what is gone that creates an avalanche as i lay. Rampaging, across my lungs with the sound of hooves, bouncing from one side to another. Leaving a trail of fog as it erupts out of my mouth. Not music. Just sound, in the silence of society itself.