II. Sweet
He kissed her, he kissed her, he kissed her, little by little by little.
Even in this moment of bliss, he recalls a faint twinge of disappointment. He'd been expecting the exotic taste of wealth, something reminiscent of the saffron cream and orange rind biscuits from the Crage poetry soiree, but he has caught her off-guard this evening: lips left unvarnished and with only the most discreet sprinkling of rosewater about her person. Not that he's complaining whilst his hands dare to inch further and further to meet around her waist, and every tiny button of her dress is piercing his heart like an arrow through his patched coat.
Yet in the weeks forthcoming, his dreams will still be wistfully infused with the heady scent of cinnamon and almond blossoms.