As the entrails bulge
She tends to crackling brown skin
Musk and mustard waft
Is there any foodstuff more simultaneously wonderful and repellent than a sausage filled with nothing but stomach and intestine? I welcome your thoughts. Incidentally, for those of you wondering whether I am spending my days doing nothing but fetishing offal, the poem above was the result of a game played in a car ride two weekends ago in Beaujolais. I may be lame, but at least I wasn't alone.