Like a box of chocolates sitting on the kitchen counter, the ones your doctor says to avoid but you bought them anyway because you deserve a chance to indulge in something sweet and it’s your only way of feeling complete after the rest of your life has been torn from you.
You nibble on them every now and then, or carefully slice a half here and there, because all at once is just too much guilt. Those cravings come despite trying so hard to ignore them. Staring you down in your weakness they taunt with, “just a little taste to satisfy your needs.” And that’s all you’ll allow yourself to appease the cravings.
With a hint of pure ecstasy rolling around inside, your heaving breast wishes it could last but knows it’ll end far too soon.