Dear sultry French chocolates,
I write this in utter protestation. I find myself mesmerized by your smooth, rich, dark velvety texture. It is frantically obscene how you summon each of my senses, with your seductive packaging and loose ribbons dangling temptingly. There they lay, half open in a loose knot, waiting to be pulled and breezily tumbling to the floor as I catch a glimpse of you resting gently in your lavish box.
It’s most unkind the way you lead me to you with your exotic fragrances of Cassis finely blended with rich cocoa, or a light peppering of rose with divine milk infused cream. Biting into this sinful divinity, I have one of those light-headed moments of blissful intoxication as I feel the crunchy pebbled sugar that nestles so lovingly on your roof.
At first, I thought with most certainty that this affair with you my French lover will be of little magnitude and filled with sweetness. Sadly, this is not the case, you have drawn me in and I am tormented on a daily basis by your coy provocations.
Incidentally, I have strayed with your British counterpart and whilst the affair was definitely one to remember, I cannot bring myself to obliterate the shocking visuals that are firmly imprinted in my mind when we engaged in our menage-et-trois with Marzipan and his friend the truffle. I can still feel the light dusting of bitter flakes of cocoa on my tongue.
Therefore, as much as I protest to your subtle intoxication of my senses and the ability to carry on until I have ravaged you, I am admittedly an addict.
I eagerly await a not-so-chance encounter with your fellow dark, fondant and lavender infused friend that sits quietly next to you, smiling smugly at me, knowing the utopia thats to come.
Much love and addiction,