I measure bitter bricks,
shaved from unsweetened slabs,
weighing the impulsive thought
of daring,
to taste the bitterness,
licking the rich dark earth of it,
longing to savor
the treasured ancient world
that grew it.
I temper the desire instead,
melting it into a swirling brunette liquor
enriched by sun-thickened gold.
I mix the crystalized syrup
from nature's canes
into powder made from dried nibs.
Their life has been brutal,
dried, roasted, crushed,
until they turn into
the rarest of brown sapphires,
only to be finely milled
for other's pleasures.
I whisk the whites of *****
until they resemble cirrus cloud,
streaking the sky blue bowl - no longer a clear day.
As if I were born to play mad scientist,
the ink, glitter, and clouds are brought together
with the heart of the harvest,
and just a whisper of expansion.  
I unfurl the silken tapestry
and send her into the hearthen forge.
Waves of rich, decadent warmth roll in,
a fragrant tide filling every crevice,
taunting even the lurking ants.
Time's invisible hand lets go,
and a captured morsel on a boat of silver,
lifts to my lips.
I plunder the symphony of indulgence
on my tongue,
and groan, like a lover,
fully satisfied.