The nose dissipates as quickly as I once left a therapist’s office after seeing a mahogany otter skeleton model in the corner. But then I go back (to the nose, not the therapist’s office) and pick out the braised root vegetables, Prell hair conditioner, eggplant, and mascarpone cheese spread over a rusty car manifold (Porsche) being customized before a Brony convention. And I realize at this point, I’m in! And I’m ready to talk all about my mother.
As a paper plane is to a mil spec drone, so cough syrup is to this fine dram. Wooden nickels left in a kangaroo pouch a tad too long. Retsina carried in wineskins by top-hatted monkeys. It is sweet and sour and spicy, forming what I call the isosceles taste triangle. (Note to self: obtain domain name for isosceles taste triangle).
The finish reveals equal parts tarty and tarry. Burdock root and cowslip pedals. Aloe leaves cut on the bias and fried like calamari. Not nearly as pretty as the mouth, I think, but the finish adds distinction, a paradox of imperfection that puts the beauty in high relief.