A subtle whiff of incense strikes my consciousness with hints of almonds, whole or sliced or meal or flour blanched, unsalted, salted, baked into sweet macarons — and painted marzipan! So fragrant, luring me to snack on replicas of colorful and cute and artistic shapes of fruit… I want to fuck the source of this confectious perfume. I want to kiss you madly. I want to get on top of you. I want to ride your cock—If only you had one.