At some point during this neverending spring, I decided to practice my chocolate handwriting.
I stayed late at the kitchen one night with a copy of Not Much Fun: The Lost Poems of Dorothy Parker and found a short poem about springtime and gave it a go.
The chocolate got out of temper, which you can see by the white streaks, but it didn’t matter, I was just messing around.
Late at night, all alone in my little kitchen with my pastry bag and book of poetry, I got obsessed with the idea that writing a poem in chocolate means that you can manipulate the words a little after they dry.
If you hold onto them, they melt in your hand, getting all soft and bendy.
Carefully and gently, you can rearrange them and stack them and shape them,
and before you know it,
you’ve made a little home out of poetry.