Not a Cigar

I’ve continued my decline –
my perilous descent –
six-dollars-ninety-nine
just profligately spent

on candy: not a bar
or Valentine assortment:
a Cuban thick “cigar”
whose fat brown sweet deportment

recalls a mighty phallus:
stiff chocolate case – slick, spruce –
as if to make a palace
for all the praline mousse

which fills it like a lust
too bursting to abate –
plump – yearning through its crust
to spill: and promulgate

its glories you know where –
to consummate, make whole
and shamelessly lay bare
my sybaritic soul.

.