My Caramello Fellow (SeeThomasHowl)

Thy golden skin, a silken caramello sweet,
Dost melt against my tongue, a prelude,
This feeding soon foreshadows yet more food;
Thy words which satisfy my hunger 'til complete.

Thy close-shaved head, monastic in its look,
Attracts the eye; to seek the brain encased
In the contours of thy youthful Asian face;
So ageless, wise, a rarely-opened book.

And the hand; the hand so deftly grasps,
The *pen* whose flow of *truth* could ne'er be stilled,
If the *ballpoint* broke, you fain would grab a quill,
And soon renew thine efforts to make me gasp.

And I could not be bothered to write another line;
So I'll post this now, and save more for another time.

The End

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