” All you need is love.
But a little chocolate now and then doesn’t hurt.”
Charles M. Schulz
Food for thought – poetry.
She is always asking for more.
More hours making words, more days finding the things she loves—people, art, a good font.
But she gives me chocolates.
How can I say no?
On hearing of a book titled, The Chocolate War. A war?
Why such violence with bread and cheese as witness?
Break off a piece along the smooth boundary line and savor a truce before dinner.
Ode to Chocolate
I hate milk chocolate, don’t want clouds of cream diluting the dark night sky, don’t want pralines or raisins, rubble in this smooth plateau.
I like my coffee black, my beer from Germany, wine from Burgundy, the darker, the better.
I like my heroes complicated and brooding, James Dean in oiled leather, leaning on a motorcycle.
You know the color.
From the spice bazaars of Africa, hulled in mills, beaten, pressed in bars.
The cold slab of a cave’s interior, when all the stars have gone to sleep.
Chocolate strolls up to the microphone and plays jazz at midnight, the low slow notes of a bass clarinet.
Chocolate saunter down the runway, slouches in quaint boutiques; its style is je ne sais quoi.
Chocolate stays up late and gambles, likes roulette.
Always bets on the noir.
—Barbara Crooker, author of More
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