I’m a big fan of sweet things,
chasing the kinds of flavors
that stay on the tongue
long after the plate is cleared.

The velvet pull of whipped cream
and the syrupy bleed of cherries.
That birthday sponge,
heavy with a deep, nostalgic sugar.

The aggressive gold of a mango.
Slippery, floral, and dripping with heat,
a concentrated hit of sun
that stays behind the teeth.

The 80 percent snap of dark chocolate.
A dry bitterness that melts
into a slow, earthy silk
at the back of the throat.

But the sugar and the silk always fail.
None of it is as sweet as the breathless heat
of a sound caught between our lips,
the warm, erratic vibration
of your laughter in my mouth.