i woke up late
because in my dream
it was the weekend
and i was at home
eating a cantaloupe
while reading rimbaud
and not entirely sure what he was getting at,
though my wife kept nodding along
from one stanza
to the next,
so i suppose i should have understood
rather than being too tired to go to work
When I was eight, I had a vivid dream, perhaps a lucid dream, that has stayed with me ever since, a dream that sparked an unending quest for the perfect, most peculiar chocolate bar. It was a rainy autumn evening, and I was tucked in bed, the patter of rain on the window lulling me to sleep. In my dream, I found myself in a magical candy shop, where the air was thick with the scent of cocoa and an unexpected hint of elusive ingredients my mind was too inexperienced to fully comprehend.
The shopkeeper, a kindly old man with twinkling eyes, beckoned me forward. He handed me a bar wrapped in iridescent foil, its weight heavy and promising in my small hands. “This,” he said, his voice a warm whisper, “is the Chocolate of Dreams.”
I unwrapped it slowly, the foil crinkling under my fingers, revealing a rich, dark chocolate that glistened in the soft light of the shop. As I took a bite, the world around me seemed to transform. The chocolate was unlike anything I had ever tasted—it was as if the essence of every happy memory and comforting moment had been distilled into this single bar, but with an eccentric twist.
The first layer was a smooth, dark chocolate, but infused with the unexpected flavor of bergamot and sea salt. It melted on my tongue, releasing a burst of flavors that reminded me of breezy summer afternoons spent by the sea, the salt air mingling with the aroma of blooming citrus trees.
As I bit deeper, I encountered a layer of creamy avocado mousse, its rich, buttery texture blending seamlessly with the dark chocolate. It was reminiscent of lazy Sunday lunches after church, where the smoothness of ripe avocados met the savory satisfaction of freshly baked bread.
And as I kept eating I discovered more and more flavors. Hidden within the mousse were tiny, crunchy bits of candied lavender petals, adding a delightful crunch that evoked memories of walking through fields of wildflowers, each step releasing a fragrant symphony underfoot.
The very center of the bar held the most surprising element—a smooth, velvety ganache infused with the subtle warmth of saffron and the unexpected zest of wasabi. It was a gentle heat that spread through me, like the excitement of a new adventure, or the thrill of an unexpected discovery.
As I finished the last bite, the dream began to fade, but the taste and the feeling of that chocolate bar stayed with me. I woke up with a sense of longing and wonder, and an insatiable desire to find that perfect, peculiar confection. For a brief moment, my young mind thought the Chocolate of Dreams could be real. But I also had a fever of one hundred and six, so it could have been a hallucination.
Though despite knowing that it was all a dream, and one that I had as a child and with a fever, I still hold out a small inkling of hope that one day I’ll find that perfect, indescribable, sugary-delight that I know as the Chocolate of Dreams.
branes sprouting out of limbs
caught in a fire set by
adolescent dreams holding secrets
of great affections that are directed at no one
in particular
Fred Aiken Writing 