All my life I've loved chocolate.
The love is in my genes,
and some would say (the cheeky ones)
it's also in my jeans. 

I passed my love of chocolate
to my babes in the womb.
They drank it in their breastmilk
and danced a merry tune. 

We didn't let them eat chocolate
until their first birthday.
The children's nurse had told us
that we should be that way. 

Then came pain au chocolat
and birthday chocolate cake.
Eyes lit up in faces smeared.
Oh, what a mess they make! 

And now we say that chocolate
can only be for pud.
Of course, they want it always,
for chocolate tastes so good. 

I too only eat chocolate
after I eat a meal.
I'm being truly honest.
What I say is real. 

I have never pinched chocolate
hidden amongst laundry
to surreptitiously eat,
keeping it all for me.

I have not opened chocolate
while shaking pasta shapes
and savoured chunks all alone
while making bolognese. 

That missing Easter chocolate
the kids cannot recall.
It certainly was not me
that did devour it all. 

And I never said chocolate
truffles were too boozy
and so only for adults;
they'd just make children woozy. 

And if I ate some chocolates
while writing this today,
it's because there were too few
of them to share. OK?