"What have I done to deserve these?"
These in particular? A whole confection of sins for which I seek your absolution
"Mmm, these are good. I do love a good fondant"
Fond rather than fondant. Or fondle even. Melt me please. Melt my soft centre once again
"Umm, I love the way the two tastes and textures constantly swirl around the old tastebuds"
Like we used to do round one another
"No, don't tell me, let me work it out"
So you're prepared to work that out, but not the mystery ingredients in our marriage? You'll never guess it in a thousand years. Stake your life on it
"Okay, definitely something nutty there. Slightly bitter, would I be right in saying almonds?"
My almond eyes were one of the things you fell deeply in love with. You used to say you could stare into them forever, but I've twigged you were looking at the homunculus reflection of yourself
"And what's that subtle sweet undertaste? Vying hard not to be overwhelmed by the bitterness"
Not the taste of my skin that's for sure
"It's on the tip of my tongue. Peaches? Could that be it?"
My peachy complexion. Only darkening at cheeks, chin and nipples at your touch. When we made love
"Thanks love. These are divine. Are they Belgian?"
Yeah, I'm Lady Godiva and I am undressed for you
"Where did you buy them?"
The naive, the innocent, the unwary buy lies, but these choccies have taken in something equally toxic
"Another box of chocolates? I'll be piling on the calories!"
Your body has fully held its shape from our courtship days. Mine however, having produced our own soft centres with hard heads, has lost its chewy elasticity. I have become your vanilla wife. You have become saturated with me, yet I have not nearly had my fill of you
"No, thanks. I didn't mean to sound ungrateful. Just, what's the occasion?"
Whatever you select it to be. Three months since you last made me a cup of tea, having boiled the kettle for your own coffee. Nine months since you put the children to bed or read them a story. Fifteen months since you last filled my hollow centre with your nozzle. I've got as many anniversaries as it's going to take boxes of chocolates to make you come round to appreciating
"Are they the same as the last lot? They were so very moreish"
More, more, always wanting more. Whore, whore, whore, always wanting whore
"Yummy, thanks. Gotta be careful, last time I must have really pigged out cos I found some melted chocolate fused with my sock. Ruined it was, had to chuck the pair away"
Life's truffle hunter that you are, that would have been down to me. Need to be more careful with the darning needles then. After I've finished injecting my homemade fondant fancy inside, I have to ensure I've removed every last trace
"Wow, these have got a real bitter kick on them? Did you change the recipe?"
Last time you retired to bed and I watched you in your sleep. In the twilight, your skin had a pink tinge to it, like a salmon. But that was the extent of it. I realised you needed a bigger dose. I had originally considered using arsenic. I know it accretes in the hair and fingernails. It must also be excreted through the body's fluids. I did wonder if we chanced make love again, whether you would be reinjecting the arsenic back into me. So we could succumb together. A fanciful notion of course, since you'd never unpack that flesh drill of yours and bore deep into me. So I plumped for potassium cyanide. Did you know butterfly collectors use it to kill their prey in such a way so as to preserve their beauty? So the needle pinning them to the cork doesn't despoil them
"Ooh, I feel a bit light headed. Suddenly my breathing seems very... rapid?
Yes, my research reported that to be a symptom. But it's actually only the perception of your breath quickening. See the delight with this venom, is that it embodies a certain piquancy
"I'm chilled to the bone. I can't feel-"
The cold-blooded reptile. Again a mere sensation, but an apt one. Dentists are always saying too much chocolate is bad for your teeth. That's why they have to drill and fill. Just desserts.