Thursday, June 28, 2012

98. Chocolate

Deep and dark;
bitter sweetness on my
eager tongue.
Soft and sensual;
little florets
bloom within my
captivated
mouth.

When all the children are asleep
and the evening’s work is
done:
how nice it is to sit in the
silent darkness,
thinking of nothing
doing nothing
but enjoying this sinful
morsel

in a moment’s
single, solitary
bliss;
alone and awake
in the dark hours,
only with a box of chocolates
and nothing else.

No comments:

Post a Comment

One Art, to recognize, must be,
Another Art to Praise.

- Emily Dickinson