My hands smeared in dark chocolate, its texture soft. It taints my clothes, nothing that I mind. I dip my finger in the molten chocolate to taste the sweetness of the raw. It melts in my mouth and I feel floating in the heaven.
Its dark color appealing, my fantastical side says mysteries lay within its murkiness. As they say, it works as a band-aid for the broken hearts, a jack for miffed moods, a booster for the brain, and an enhancer of sexual activity.
I don’t think I delectate eating these dark monsters as much as creating them. An undefined art. I take long pauses to decide on the fillings-peanuts? butter cream? marbles? walnuts? raisins? and then the essences for flavor-hazelnut? vanilla? mix fruit? mint?. Mix-matching the essences and fillings, I carefully carve out each piece of my art. I take out the molds from the refrigerator to find the leveled and smooth tops.
I see people eating it with utter care to grab the flavor in each bite. It brings momentary happiness to them and sense of contentment to me. And propels me to indulge in the dark.