She called it a chocolate pool of men and we laughed
As we melted into the teeming crowd.
Poets, we said, are strange critters,
Always thinking in those weird phrases,
Always tuned in to the sights and sounds of things,
At least, almost always.
Because being always tuned in
Makes us more crazy and less poets.

A chocolate pool it was, though.
Everything from ebony statues with blueberry chips
to milk chocolate miniatures filled with marshmallow
cream and covered with honey,
Caramel-coated white chocolate drops
With hints of raspberry at their bubble gum centers,
Dark chocolate bits whipped into confectioners sugar
And flavored with lemon.

Legs, lips, fingertips
flexed, wet, and manicured

Uhm! Uhm!
A woman canšt live off chocolate alone
so when you bury me let my epitaph read:
She died toothless and happy.