Sensoria Sensoria Sensoria

Yes, I am a sybarite. I love to
fondle sonsy women whilst sipping on
select green teas or a new season’s fresh
beaujolais, when slacking by the
swimming pool or in the sweaty heat of
a sauna. And I love to dine
with celebrated company, not the
would-be stars, to savor every
finest flavor, to taste, to discuss, rave,
salaciously debate—in an epicurean way
of course—the sensorial reasons why
I so relish satisfaction of these
slippery Sydney rock oysters, as I,
a simple bon vivant, indulge in cool
sea salty juices sliding down my throat.
Two seeking tongues meet, entwine, melt
in your lemon zestful tastes—swirls making
overly warm, soon to become far, far
too hot labyrinthine-embraces with mine.