Like black glass, slivers shine on the peaks of my hand, then fall like ebony snow, glistening on tables scarred from cups and ideas, pens, love letters, notebooks and harsh conversation. It melds with the dark stone of the cloth that pulls at my back.
My fingers are a swirl of flesh with this dripping cacao fusion dancing in my mouth. It whispers to me in chocolate tongues, and I am caught between sucking on a cube of this hard nectar, or biting through its wall of sweetness; giving it the freedom to careen through my mouth, like hidden antlers under my tongue.
Mulching it into a paste from tongue pressing, the mix satiates my taste buds, sticking like a church wafer to the roof of my mouth. I unlock it from its fleshy ceiling, and peel it off. It drips through my teeth, settling into my mouth, coating my lips and staining my teeth all amber.