The bean was the beginning; the fetus of a king,
the child of a god, ending as a perfect peace of chocolate,
resting in your finger tips.
The chocolate seduces your lips to part ways.
Pulls your jaw down far enough too slip in past the split in your lips.
It yearns and moans to be tossed around by your tongue.
To bathe in your warm saliva and rest in your cheeks.
Crawling on hands and knees begging just for the privilege,
too slowly slide down your throat and finally rest inside you.
Some nights I sit and think of you,
and wish to god I was chocolate.