the cookie

I am going to a poetry reading tonight and I'm planning to get up and read. I wrote this piece almost two years ago. I get the same grin on my face now reading it as I had then when I was writing it.

the perfect chocolate chip cookie
We all have our own idea of what the perfect chocolate chip cookie is. Our perfect cookies may differ, but to the individual it is divine indulgence exemplified.

I have my own version of the perfect chocolate chip cookie. I want the cookie to be dark chocolate. I like regular chocolate chip cookies ... but there is something about a dark chocolate one that does it for me.

Just the color alone is beautiful in its own right. Deep, dark rich chocolate goodness. The cookie would have just the right firmness, but would be soft enough for me to sink my teeth into slowly, again and again.

The chips wouldn’t really be chips at all but big, sweet chocolate morsels that melt when my tongue touches them. I want that chocolate to dance in my mouth. I want to feel it warm inside my mouth and let my tongue roll around the gooey stickiness before I swallow it and let it leave a sweet aftertaste on my palate.

I had an opportunity to have one of these cookies, but I’d be stealing to do it.
It belonged to someone else and they only had that one. It wouldn’t be right for me to take the cookie even though I so desired it. So I coveted that cookie. I watched it every single day, staring at it and wishing that it could be mine. It seemed like the cookie wanted me to have it. After all, it was just lying there in perfect view on my desk. But it belonged to someone else. Stealing is wrong, isn’t it?

I picked the cookie up, held it to my nose and inhaled its sticky intoxicating scent. I imagined what it would be like to have this cookie for myself. I imagined the taste of it on my tongue, its texture in my mouth and the way it would feel when I had consumed my fill of it.

Then I put the cookie down and walked away.