Do you like my hot chocolate?

Wrapped together in a fluffy blanket,

The warmth seeping into the palms of my hands.

Frozen fingers enjoying the company of the heated mug,

A myriad of white mountains float in the sea

A steaming chocolate sea

Then I will ask again, do you like my hot chocolate?

The scent of cocoa fills my nostrils,

Rich in Color.

The painted snow-flakes on the walls

The rim was stained a deep mocha

A self-made cocoa-stache brimmed the upper lip.

Is my hot chocolate a mere metaphor?

The question laps my thoughts.

The wind cracks against the window.

I am safe and secure behind the four walls,

Four simple walls with no real meaning,

Only protection.

My hot chocolate is the only thing I have

Only for me

My hot chocolate

Not yours, or his, or hers

Mine

I ask for the last time,

Do you like my hot chocolate?

My hot chocolate is more than liked,

It’s honored.