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sweet tree
raised from
tropical
earth

to grow upright
and out
to sprout
from trunk
a bunch of
pink and
pointed pods

or perhaps
crimson or
yellow
aubergine
tangerine
green

scythed clean
from host
and hacked
in two
for getting at
seeds a-pulp
in white
and slimed

and spreading
them out under
the sun
to get hot
in their own
juices

to ferment
wild

to bake
dry

poured tinkling
by the
thousands into
sacks of hessian
for sending
‘cross seas

to furnace-cracked
futures
winnied and
conched
sweetened
melted
and hardened
into shapes
of other things


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Cacao trees are spectacularly beautiful. They love the humid, mountainous air near the equator, and the regular washings of rain.

Nestled in the understory of bigger forest trees, they sprout these colourful, magical pods out of their trunks and drape them over with big, shady leaves. It’s truly other-worldly.

Only fitting for the most magical food on earth!

And the intricate process of coaxing their bitter seeds into luxurious chocolate is a great marvel of modern industrialism. From harvesting, fermenting and drying the beans to roasting, conching, sweetening and tempering, chocolate has become a true labor of love.
blankets laid
like pastry
twirled and
crinkled
made to nestle
precious
heads
in bed of
curled and
covered comfort
buttered


wrapped up
little packages
alive and
breathing


heaving breaths
of depths
unknown to
waking worlds
through softened
lungs and throats
and mouths
and gooey
molten middles


with shield of
fragile sleep
held up
to barricade in
and barricade out


as steam floats
gentle warm
and wistful
blissful up
from tender
scalps


from dreams
in gold and
chocolate



© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
It's nice to lie awake in the early morning while everyone else is still sleeping. To bask heavy in the sound of bodies inflating and deflating. Languishing in the subconscious, unfettered by obligation or chore. And to wonder what sweet dreams they're dreaming.
Amanda Feb 2018
I love chocolate.
Chocolate disappears fast.
No more once eaten.
WeFeelFine Feb 2018
Perhaps my expectations for you
are impossible.
Perhaps you are blind to the desire
in my eye.
Maybe you are deaf to the disappointment
in my sigh.
Maybe your budget isn't
so suasible.

If you would read my body,
Look into my mind,
We would be great
And all would be fine.
Though it probably should be,
It just isn't enough
To say that you're mine,
I need material stuff.

Roses of red,
No,
I prefer blue.

And the finest of chocolate,
A large teddy bear, too.

Shower me with the money you've spent,
It's not a big deal,
Only a present.

I promise not to be greedy,
Or selfish,
Or stale.

I won't raise my expectations even further on the scale.

But you must keep me happy,
Satisfied in every way.
You can't do that for me?

Well what else can I say...

I promise I loved you,
In good times and bad.
And I will always reminisce
The times that we've had.

Oh, I will miss you.
I promise, I will.
But your wallet has emptied.
And my love has gone still.
Valentines Day with a Gold Digger.
Baylee Kaye Feb 2018
Chocolate flowed right from his lips.
Dripping down the dampened ships.
My tongue awakened.
My bones they ached and,
the melted chocolate, still it drips.
someone tell me why I’m writing so much about chocolate...I think it’s since it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow. I’ve eaten so many fine chocolates, they remind me of emotions. They’re addictive.
Arnauld Jarvis Feb 2018
oh oh muse...
oh oh muse...
will your vacation here last forever?
holding hands hence and kiss
so many call you at their side
time to bring all of your juice tonight
inspiration and windfall your vanity
take me to an cosmos free of promulgation
oh muse...
give a touch to my trembling hatch
I feel like dust
and the pages...
oh muse ...
scratched and peeling...
no odour at all
no colour at all
only the light that makes them spicy
if you're there step by step come stand by me
I need you
oh muse...
petrified my skin,  statue my corpse
I see only blue
a window of vanity
Kewayne Wadley Feb 2018
Gifts and corporations do not equate love.
Although I admire a certain aspect.
The after effect.
Everything being restricted to one day.
Three-hundred sixty-four days in comparison.
To show how much you love, how much you care.
The simplicity of taking time out to do something special for the one you love
out of sheer appreciation.
Price tags don't include how vital it is to bask in the same breath as your loved one.
The amount of time it takes
Creating memories that outlive us.
The moments we constantly over-obsess
How could they, they are manufactured in the same manner of restriction.
Mass quantities of fluff and chocolate.
All ranging from big to small.
A single day that lasts three-hundred sixty-four days.
Love is the rarest commodity and it's all of these small moments
That create the most memories.
The after effect.
In actuality.
The real holiday is to see your face light up at all the discounted chocolate
as we celebrate each and every day
The same way we met
Three-hundred sixty-five days
Baylee Kaye Feb 2018
His eyes were soft,
his voice, tender.
The way he tipped his head at me,
how I melted at the site.

His chocolate locks fell freely,
dangling loosely across his eyes.
We paused for a moment, frozen.
I smiled. He breathed.

This has happened more than once,
making my point more damning.
That his chocolate eyes and locks,
locked once with mine.
moments with a stranger.
I opened a locked door for him, he breathed "thank you" with a kept-in breath.
Our eyes met, I smiled and nodded and we carried on.
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