Cupping drops of chocolate in island palms,
I ate one like life, sweet and bitter;
like silk and butter; like the sweet dark
oblivion of sleep but better.
And in my trance I took another,
and another, until I had just one,
and mindful now of what my indulgence
would soon become,
to be no more, I savored the last drop
and rolled it about on my tongue like
a word for one I love,
and after wondered to myself-
in which drop lay the deeper satisfaction
now that all were passed?
The very first one, or the very last?