I like my
chocolate warm,
but not
soft and gooey.
I never like it cold.
It’s brittle
when it’s cold,
and doesn’t
please my mouth
like my poetry does.
Leaving me with that
milktongue,
firing up connections
at synapses.
And they say time travel
is impossible,
but oh how
chocolate
takes me back.

M. Zane. McClellan

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