The color of your skin reminds me of butterscotch,
Brown and sweet,
The taste of your soul,
Delicious without defeat.

The sudden loss of control,
As your fingers scroll,
Down the sides of my memories,
Hauntingly beautiful.

I can’t be trusted,
My morality,
My thoughts of the way you should be treated,
Blurred by visions of trauma,
I am not good for you,
Butterscotch boy,
You are just another toy.

I grow fond of you everyday,
But much like a child,
Fond of materialism,
Once I’m bored,
You will be tossed aside,
Forgotten.

Run,
Don’t stay,
Don’t suffer the fate of the other delicious men,
That couldn’t see through my facade,
My sin.

Trouble lurks,
In the form of my words,
A delicious drink,
Poisoned and absurd.

Like a kid in my candy shop,
A notch in my belt,
Butterscotch boy,
Your cards have been dealt.