I eat strawberry ice cream directly from the container - without guilt - clothed in nothing but light pink undergarments, containing rose-colored nipples and a glistening, ruby slit. I set them free, letting the breeze in the air and the cold, sweetness sliding down my throat summon their attention. I wrap a shimmering scarf - the color of ripe, juicy watermelon - around my neck, which blooms from light to deepening shades of blush as the ghost of your kiss ignites a firework of unfulfilled desire. My cherry lips silently pout their want for the salt of your skin. And since I can't touch you or taste you across the distance, I will send you this...and bid you goodnight.