Cinnamini cocoa goddess with a chocolate friend so dark as to tint the soul and leave me salivating as my sweet tooth acts improperly. I’ve been snagged, giving smiles and yet my eyes betray me, they show my interest clearer than the highest definition.
She’s got me tripping on my own feet as I try to walk confidently toward her, holding the air like rails as if I were a wobbling infant talking the first steps of my life.
Step one, I stride up to you in a way that sends chills down your spine, shivering your body when I touch your arms and slide up, my fingers making it up the triceps and easing onto your shoulder. Step two, kiss you and make you see how much I’m in love with you.
But step three?
What step three? Usually by this time I snap back to reality realizing that you’re still in front of me, body burning the air’s nitrogen around thee. So savage a **** yet so classy a manner, I tingle in my lust of you.
I just want to be known to you, I want you to see me as a being that is close to you, intimately, physically, whatever’s accepted by you. Can I do that? Can I be accepted by you as maybe a friend or more? It’s a possibility that any ad everything can go wrong, but **** the odds, we are in ourselves against the definition of odd, awkward beings that need each other lest they go crazy from neglect and withdrawal.
I speak in intonation when around you, the rise in my voice is for every time your eyes connect to mine, yet the fall is for all the moments that I can’t see you, three desks away and yet it feels like an entire galaxy of space between our adjacent seats. But there isn’t anything I can do to control my urge for your assiduity. Call me greedy, as I feed on your attention like a moth feeds on fine linen.
And I’m hungry for nothing more than you, no one other than you, call me critical, but I can’t savor anyone but your flavor. Your taste, as distinct as it is, is still a one of a kind, and I am addicted to the one of a kind flavor.