Vanilla opens slowly,
a warm breath in the dark,
melting like anticipation
that’s been waiting too long
to be touched.

Coconut trails in next—
soft, sweet, lingering—
the kind of note that hangs in the air
just long enough
to make the pulse rise.

Then comes the mango,
golden and glistening,
meeting the pan with a quiet hiss,
as brown sugar and butter
wrap around it like hands
that know exactly
where to hold,
where to linger.

Cinnamon curls upward—
warm, sultry, deliberate—
a scent that moves the way a whisper does
when it’s meant only for one person.
And Angie…
every swirl of that heat
speaks your name
the way a flame claims a wick.

The flavors meet slowly,
nothing hurried,
nothing wasted—
heat folding into cool,
sweetness drawing in deeper sweetness,
a slow, sensual push and pull
that feels almost like breathing
in perfect rhythm
with someone you want too much
to step away from.

By the time the dance finds its peak,
the whole mixture glows—
soft, molten, irresistible—
a tango of desire
and surrender
and gravity
that pulls everything closer
until there is no space left
between want
and taste.

This is the Mango Tango—
rich, warm,
a tremor held just below a sigh,
a dessert that doesn’t just tempt…
it invites.
And Angie—
it was always meant
for you.