An eyeball he tells me, and I know exactly what he means. It is the texture of it, an egg is almost there, but an eyeball is more visceral. I think of agar agar, wallpaper paste, oyster mushrooms, muscles and oysters and octopus and so many kinds of bottom feeders. I think of sex, the burrowing into, the juice of a cunt or a young coconut, the textures that squeak under your back teeth or that stick to your pallette with an exquisite sensation that might be slightly distasteful.
Eggs and eyeballs and sex and somewhere the whiff of decay. I understand the erotic potential of this perfect combination not just a metaphor but the objects themselves.
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