Flesh: pink, cold, oily: Covering rice: wet, shining and white; My tongue embraces what soon disappears, as a lover who comes and leaves in the night. Like a truth known only in doing: a temporary, unexplainable right; That fish I had still plays with me, and lingers on in memory's sight. Just a fish, you ask? Don't play the fool; only a master, striving could cut it just quite. Ah, what my mouth wouldn't give to taste it again... another round of that ultimate bite.