compulsively drip and run
down my fingers and into my mouth

someone please
count my fingers
and toes
lord knows, one may
be missing
if they are covered in chocolaty
brown gold

chocoholic, is my Hall of fame
covered in chocolate is my
sugar brown dream

(Version 1)
It is just a scent
A fine dark chocolate scent
It’s how my night ends

(Version 2)
In the heavy rain
Warm Chocolate Vanilla
Wraps a bloom tightly

Golden leaves are bright
I love the hue of the sky
Fall brings me so much joy
Even I enjoy autumn nights

My favorite movie's playing
My dog is by my feet
I'm surrounded in a popcorn blanket
and can laugh genuinely

Sometimes I wish I could share this
But for the first time in a while
I feel happy alone with my dog
Drinking hot chocolate with the window open

Whiskey
dark chocolate,
smooth jazz, and some gritty
poetry are all that I need
tonight

So, I met this girl, right
Not being impolite
But she makes me fill my appetite
Looking at her never gets old
She has me in a choke hold
Still does
Skin like cocoa
Legs like Flo-Jo
And an *** that is made for riding that like a Bronco
She made me loco
But when I finally asked her
She said no
All I want to say is this
Until my feelings for you subsist
I'm really being honest
I've never been kissed
All I want is you to lick your lips
And kiss me
Can't you see?
No?
Buddies then?
I guess we can be friends

Even at my young age I was suspicious of the easter confectioners.

Even while feeling the excitement rise, breaking into the thin cardboard casing
and unwrapping the fragile patchwork of chocolate,
even as I found the seam and tried and failed to make a clean break
even at that first crack, in my child-like cynicism I felt the disappointment
of the hollowness of an easter egg.

The half shell cradled the fallen fragments,
allowing me to collect every flake with a wet finger,
but still I felt cheated, more so as my mother insisted
that we save the rest til later,
her words somehow conspiring
with the glass and a half chocolate makers,
seeking to dress up the thin, brittle shell
to appear more than its fragile inadequacy.

Then grandad came

with a two pound purple brick of a bar,
fresh from his fridge,
and he challenge us to a bizarre dressing up feast
where we'd attack the mountainous chocolate
armed with a knife and fork, hampered by hat, scarf and mittens,
gambling against the next throw of the dice, against racing siblings,
to hatchet chunks from the heavy tablet
and shovel as many broken shards into our mouths
before, at the roll of a six, the woollen regalia was wrenched from us,
leaving us with only the prospect
of our empty shell of Easter disappointment.

Happy Easter.

We’re in a “new” trendy neighborhood called Cascade Heights, in Atlanta. It’s lush - hydrangea, musk rose, hoya and blue false indigo are in bloom and there are greens of every possible variation. The sky is clear and southern-sun bright - shadows are crisp.

It’s going to be 91°(f) today and although it’s only noon, the heat is rising.

Leong pointed out the black tubes that discreetly provide air-conditioning, carefully hidden in the shrubbery surrounding the shaded, outdoor dining area. She thought that was very clever and American. “They’re for survival,” I assure her, “it gets hotter and hotter over the summer.”

Leong and I are finishing lunch, savoring a decadent chocolate chai-tiramisu dessert.
“Oh, my God,” Leong said, sliding the chocolaty spoon over her tongue, “oomm.”
“So good,” I said, moaning with pleasure and closing my eyes.

The waiter comes over with an iPad, I wave my watch, like a magician’s wand and we’re free to go.

We were going to relax a minute and finish the last of our cold chai-tea, but as the waiter left with our cleared dishes, a rando, wino-looking, elderly man came up to the bushes by our table and said to me, “You look sad.”

First of all, I think: NO - and who ARE you? Thinking secondly, ***, go away.

I didn’t know what to say - but he put the kibosh to lingering. I started having an “eye-contact-only” conversation with Leong. Are we about done here - do you have your phone and purse - shall we go?

Leong and I stand, in unison, pushing our chairs back with our legs, gathering our shopping bags and belongings in fluid motions long-perfected at mall food-courts.

“We have to go,” I say, with a half-smile and goodbye nod to the man, “have a nice day.”

He watches us go for a moment and we surreptitiously watch him watch us go. Charles, our escort, who was at another table, fell in, a short distance behind us.

Maybe the guy was just being friendly but you can’t underestimate CrAzY in 2022