For the love of cinnamon...
Inhaling the intoxicating spices I close my eyes and fill my lungs with your scent.
As I open them your icing glazed and perfect shimmers in the sunlight. I take my fork and gentle press into your roughly flesh and you break spilling, oozing your coating over the plate. I see your freckles, your naked dough. I tear into you and take my first bite. I hold you on my tongue, longing to swallow but not willing to let this moment end, your heat, your flavour... I chew. Slowly. Savouring. As I swallow the warmth of you fills me and I know, I know I want this one to last. I dip my finger lightly into you and caresses the wet, sticky heat. The grain of cinnamon under my fingernails, gritty, earthy, divine in texture. I repeat. Lapping. Licking, fingering every bite. As I remove the fork from my mouth I let it rest lightly on my lips, it still contains your heat and nearly burns my lip. Exhilarating. It cools and the metal prongs probe my lips as I gaze on that one last bit. A sip of dark, roasted, black coffee cleanses my palate as it trickles down my throat and I wait. Once more I inhale your smell, anticipating your spicy sweetness and then all to soon you are gone.
The worship is over. Your willing sacrifice gratefully received, rejuvenated, exhilarating, awakened in flames, I take one last sip of coffee and depart.
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