your eyes, clear as day, cocoa brown.
your freckles pinned to your left face
like nut toppings of a generous ice cream sprinkle

you sit quietly making the obvious statement
that a lady needs to be engaged at this point.
you say nothing, waiting for the one with the right words
to make you let out a reserved laugh

but yet you are as untouchable as the cover girl
from any of those glossy magazines.
you brandish a ring on your finger like it was made
of blue diamonds from congo.

you are the sweet sweet taste of sin.