Who would keep calm,
Till it melts and drips down the lips?
With eyes closed as though reveling a psalm,
Or the mind surrendering to a divine eclipse?
A tattered soul has little forbearnace,
For all the dramatic unwrapping,
An instinctive emotional indulgence,
To grind and gulp down in lumps until chocking.
Taking a bite from a bar of chocolate,
Isn’t as a romantic fantasy,
Thanks to TV commercials of late,
And graphical acting of thick brown fancy.
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