This dream and this devil –
Seemingly singing.
The cut of these teeth
Upon a round shape
Upon what’s mine
Just a trance in itself.
All eyes turning to this –
Satan.
A mile high in pleasurable trance.
At the centre, I reach with my mouth
To make a trophy
of this image.
More so, faster, all pleasure
Now arise from kneeling
To a fresh ministry,
To ‘Cream Kingdom’ –
To higher powers
I commend my waist
upon Cavalry, martyred.
That certain chocolate
Has the godly power of grace
Which first was ‘given us’ –
Which now we taste
Knowing as long as it lasts,
No other thing exists.
But still I cross myself
though
If chocolate was a tree,
it would have great knowledge
and you would be Adam
and I would be Eve.