Each ridge is perfectly even,

bending towards a circular middle,

the contrast of smooth outside

with the rough inside

is forgotten

with each nibble.

Until all that is left,

are the crumbs

stuck to the fingers -

swirling wet tongue

against sticky fingers -

the small cups

are left to be

forgotten at one side.

The light buttery paste

becomes a delectable spread

across a surface

first silken,

then roughened

as it is captured

by hidden crevasses.

Can't ever have just one -

a pair of perfect round bites

begin to melt against

the warm surface...

where it leaves a sweet

sticky print.

A crumpled bag of small

black cups is the only remnant

of the rich chocolate crust

that covered peanut butter.

- inspired by a PBC mention from Missy Good <g>