M is for "Meal"

His soulmate had good taste, Sans had to give ’em that. A sweet tooth, considering all that butterscotch, and not a cheap one. Rich spices, tastes and textures in every sense of the word—except that odd slimy-crunchy combo he probably didn’t want to identify.

His tastes weren’t nearly so precious. Food was food, although he was willing to ease up on the ketchup when he tasted them sipping something to wash the tang out.

It wasn’t water. Floral, light, creamy mouthfeel. Mmm. Wow. Now that was precious, like liquid gold.

Like…golden flowers blooming on his nonexistent tongue…

Huh.