Ode to Harvest Morn (Erotic Slam Poem)

I’m in England for a year-abroad exchange, and before I got on that plane, I swore to myself, “No romantic interests for the first semester at least. England is your time.”

Well, all was going fine. Yes, there were cute guys, but I just said, “Hey, how’s it going,” and passed them by.

But walking into Aldi on my second day, 1^st aisle, 1/3 the way down, on the left. A dark boxy figure caught my eye. Hmm, looks nice. It’ll do for tonight.

Slide down the conveyor-belt, beep, bag, pay.

Then back at my place, where what I thought would be a one-night stand became love at first bite.

Harvest Morn Chocolate Crunch. Mmm, I’d always gone for the tall ones, but short, dark, and hansom, baby where have you been all my life?

Pretty soon, we’re meeting up morning, noon, and night. Our love song playing on repeat, the rhythm a sensual

Pour, splash, crunch, slurp, bite, swallow.

You are what you eat, and soon you become me, I become you

Chocolate Crunch and Me, now we.

Existing closer than two soon to be divorced disillusioned lovers under rice strewn church bells.

Because multiple times a day my digestive juices break you apart, the crunchy, the smooth, the sweet into molecules that flow through my veins, filling my cells, constructing my tissues, my organs, my heartbeat, the very hands, the lips, the tongue that holds you to me.

Now, I am made of

Oat flakes, wheat flakes, sugar, rice flour, barley malt extract, sunflower oil, sunflower lecithin, vegetable oil, plain chocolate pieces, milk chocolate pieces, white chocolate pieces,

soya lecithin?

cocoa butter, cocoa mass, cocoa powder, skimmed milk powder, whole milk powder,

coconut, chopped hazelnuts,

and flavoring.

And damn, life has never been so sweet.

Sitting in class, I fantasize about pouring you into an erotic bath, ambiance of candle-light, and please, forget the red wine, I’m having gallons of 2% chocolate milk tonight.

Love affair spiraling in delicious chocolate bliss, but after a few weeks, I feel my waistline expanding and my wallet contracting.

And I know it was low, especially in public. I didn’t mean to make a scene, but I rebounded in Aldi to your plain cousin Malted Wheaties. Half the sugar and 1% the fat, fortified with 7 vitamins and iron. Box twice the size for 2/3^rd the money and 34 less calories.

I won’t go through this one fast. It’ll last me a while, two weeks at least.

Pop a few in my mouth. Hm. Kinda bland.

But oh, what is this? A sweet, come-hither aftertaste?

For what I thought was Chocolate Crunch’s geeky cousin, in coke-bottle glasses and sweater vest, stripped them off to the kinky beat of “crunch, crunch, yes!” to reveal dark lashes and a tanned six-pack torso framed by those sexy bones forming a V, pointing the way to the land of freedom and opportunity. Trust me I know; I’m American.

By that I do not mean cereal slut, no just of good taste.

Which I prove three times a day.

Romeo and Juliet? Lancelot and Guinevere?  Jack and Rose?

They've got nothing on us, Harvest Morn.