The Boston Creme Donut

A Boston Creme donut, a single one, held without the soft crinkle of waxy paper. In a bare hand, she brought it to her mouth ever so tenderly. The chocolate glaze, brown like roasted cacao beans, met her full lips, and she took it all in. The pleasant light yellow cream splayed itself out lazily, splaying itself over the chewy dough. The mellow fragrance of sweetness wafts into her, and her eye lids fall gently. She has just enjoyed a brief reprieve in her busy tired world. The taste rolls on her tongue, a sweet burst of enjoyment. She is a sensuous woman who calls upon all five of her senses to enjoy the satisfaction of her mid-day treat. Her eyes open, the afternoon sun dancing playfully in her dark brown eyes. She catches my gaze. I give her a knowing smile and she replies with a smirk. She is a not a woman of branch like figure, but curvy, petite, and strong. I can see in her that she enjoys life in both good and bad. She understands that pleasure can only truly be known after pain. Her hair, brown and wavy, not unlike ribbons of bittersweet chocolate, waves in the air, gesturing to me a goodbye.