cocoa

the fortifying temptress wafting into the subconscious
trudging in the shelled cast
of a molten faceless man

beckons (chirpily, it seems)
come, have a sip, and put down your burden for awhile

the man's clouded opaque eyes seek furtively
for the source of the entreaty
the white of his eyes are distillated flesh
the flesh of a man long dead and pumped full of formaldehyde on a morgue table.
he cannot see beyond the deathly blindfold of his worldly wants.

his stubbled face, well lined with worries of ages past
(since man first fell from God's grace) that of his fathers, and the fathers before him
turns in supplication towards the voice.
he cocks his ears (heartbreakingly)
like the abandoned puppy we saw begging for love that the owner didn't give.
the love that was relinquished and buried
when the owner threw it in a dishwasher left on till the next morning.

for the puppy had, oh he had
been a naughty pup indeed
to chew the button off the Ferragamo
of the owner's pet tit.

the love that was rebuked and not mourned
when its dead carcass was left out in the freezing snow by the roadside.

for the puppy had, oh he had
been an ignorant pup indeed
not to know that every act of humanly love
is lethal poison within.

the man thinks he's found the source of the elusive joy
taunting his senses.
the grimy fingers unceremoniously jammed into the tatty coat
grasp spasmodically in the air
closing upon a crystalline snowflake (winking in mischief at his futile efforts)

but he doesn't find the comfort he seeks.
his heart is still cold (echoing the bloodstained tears of yesterday's anguish)
and his heart is still blind.

till the day he dies
he will find no reprieve
in voices that call out to him
to relieve the burden he carries

(for he cannot)
(for he will not)