Caramel. Lovely, lovely caramel. I like the way you feel in my mouth, on my tongue, teeth and gums. Round. Soft. Curvy. Warm. If I ever met you, Caramel, I imagine you would have good skin. Good skin and curves. Your skin would be the rich soft color of you, brown, warm and tender. Your lips would be full and sweet, a nude baby pink. Your nose would be a small soft blob of sunny-brown perfection, your nostrils neat and shapely. They remind me of almonds. Your fingernails are white half moons, like spilled sugar and cream. And your dimples, my darling; tucked away in cheeks that are like the rosy halves of an apricot. Your breasts, smooth as hot coffee, and the curves of your waist, hips and thighs, gently scooped from your golden body. Your eyes, warm and black, like beautiful night in India and Arabia, filled with the light of softly glowing stars. And from your scalp, your long black hair, straight as pulled taffy and sweet and soft as candyfloss. Caramel, you move with slow, graceful movements, and enchant me, with those dark eyes, those golden curves, that perfect nose, and your shoulders, plain and bare as honey, that open to your warm sloping back. You touch me, Caramel, with your baby pink lips, your pliable, caressing hands, your petite brown toes, and I melt. I melt against your golden skin, your warmth, your soft black hair that falls around me like inky curtains. I melt on you and curl around your lovely curves, and hold you close to me. You smell like sugar and milk and incense and cinnamon and nutmeg. You sweat strands of pearls that gather along your spine and between those round golden breasts, resting like seeds upon softly rising loaves of bread. Caramel, your sweetness envelopes me, and it its into you that I melt.