Dedicated to my sister Marjorie
They lie in wait for my gaze to reach them. They hide in the fridge, silent as the night, until, upon the light of the opened door, they make themselves known.
Oh foolish me, to think that I could not look at them and wonder. Yet there is no wonder, for their flavor is known, and as the day wanders into night I stop myself to wonder, One more, but it’s late and tho the night bell rings, telling me slumber yearns, I reach forth, to touch.
Nay, I must contend myself with the thought that they exist, nothing more, for they are a temptress, full of desire, calling to my heart, making dreams real and fantasies commonplace.
Nay, I say, nay, no more. I close the door with my virtue intact, nay, I say, nay should you but hold me not. I will embrace not the ways of the wicked, But to myself, my strength and my pride, I maintain as well as ever.
But lo, what is this in my hand? A Chocolate Ball! I remember not how it got there. But yet I do. I saw thee cherry and plucked thee from the tree. My desire laid bare, my limbs betray me, my eyes in wonder. Yea, I must have thee.
Too late to return to the fridge. The warmth of my fingers left an impression, proof of my transgression. The damage is done, it cannot be returned to its virgin state. And tho, as I chide myself for my weakness, I feel it’s call, it’s hold complete upon me, my wishes subverted by a thing.
But not a thing, a treat to rival any and all confections, the epitome of all sweets. My eyes see it as a decadent deviance. My lips prepare for its molten texture. My heart prepares for its delight.
To my tongue I say forget, let the flavor of this delight be forgotten so that you may taste it anew, akin to the first time I was blessed and humbled by something greater than I.
I bare my teeth as I draw it near. I bite down, feeling the crunch of it in my soul. I let the chocolate meld with my lips and my teeth and my tongue, allowing a shameful desire to rack my person.
But wait, more is there in the imbibing of this morsel. For lack of a greater word I choose peanut butter, for peanut butter also assails my senses, melding and molding itself with the chocolate to become something else. Something I cannot describe but can enjoy with wanton abandon.
Slowly I allow these flavors to course their way across my tongue. I savor their feel and their depth, bite after slow bite, willing myself to take time, make time freeze, as pure unadulterated pleasure wraps itself around me, like a thick blanket spreading warmth, keeping me cozy and safe from the cold, like a thick blanket spreading warmth, keeping me cozy and safe from the cold, like a mother’s love, warm and bright, and filled with happiness and caring. For there is a mother’s love in them, and if that were a flavor it would be this.
After several bites the job is done. Time continues, this time to my dissatisfaction, nay must I return to the world of the living, after enduring such bliss.
But the job is not done, for my fingertips, after having held such a delicacy, are now coated thickly with the evidence of what was. A dark slathering of chocolate held aloft by my hand, giving me another reason to live. I lick at my fingertips, I run my tongue over my lips, I must make them clean after all. I chuckle for making clean is not my goal, it is a prolonging, a simple cheap pleasure that, when I’m done, I can say that I am sated, for now at least.
And now it is time for slumber to take me. I have encouraged the sweetest dreams to manifest as I sleep. I pray for visions of chocolate balls to rain upon me as I laugh with glee. As I climb into my bed, I cannot but be grateful for the one who blessed me so. Such a wonderful person as to look upon me and anoint me with a mother’s love as this. I am but a fool to not think that a mother’s love cannot be transported from the kitchen. For they are here, for me to enjoy, and I feel truly blessed.
Thank you and Merry Christmas.
Arid Testimony 