The fragrant unknown from beyond
A few years ago the local fish 'n chips was a treat beyond
my ability to
describe. It would take a Lovecraft of food to give it the
verisimilitude of purple flavour it richly earned in its paper-wrapped
vinegar drenched delicitude. With a lemon segment to squeeze onto the
fresh Hake, so fresh it still filled the air with dreams of the sea, and
the chips beckoning. Ah, a man would lose his faculties near such a
creature, a siren. Reality itself distorted, time slowed.
describe. It would take a Lovecraft of food to give it the
verisimilitude of purple flavour it richly earned in its paper-wrapped
vinegar drenched delicitude. With a lemon segment to squeeze onto the
fresh Hake, so fresh it still filled the air with dreams of the sea, and
the chips beckoning. Ah, a man would lose his faculties near such a
creature, a siren. Reality itself distorted, time slowed.
<slap! SLAP!> Okay. Thanks. I feel better now. Phew, that was close.
Then a few years later, the place changed hands and the quality drained
away like a dream of far Kadith and the wakening into a hot, dry place
of flies and a single SPAR with empty shelves.
This piece of mouth-watering poetry was composed by Donn Ingle.
*Blush*
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