Ode to a brown sugar cinnamon Pop-Tart, or a particularly hot woman, or both.
Oh! I desire you most at night, especially after everyone else in my household hath gone to bed. You are best when fresh, recently unwrapped, naked to the nighttime air. I love that first taste, when my whole mouth doth envelope you. I am overwhelmed by your luscious sweetness.
Must I wait? Oh, how do you tempt me!
Do not elude me, my love. I search for thee in the deep cabinets of the pantry. You are hidden from the easy eyes of children and strangers, yet I will seek you unto the bottom depths of the bread drawer. Art thou hidden on the back side of swing-out shelves, behind boxes of name brand cereal, betwixt bags of chips?
When you are with me, I must have you immediately. When you are absent, every synapse in my skull arcs with aching bursts of micro-electricity, longing for your return. I feel I can hold your shape within my hands, even when you are not here. I stroke your ghost with my fingers and thumbs, close my eyes and picture your magnificence. Our affair must be brief, yet I will savor your memory for all time.
My saliva glands cannot lie. I want you, I need you — now more than ever. Let us join together as one, and this moment shall become the landmark when two became as one, crashing through the gates of tradition, and the lower shelves of grocery stores, forever.