My Cardboard Balcony

Aztec Chocolate by Belinda Roddie Quetzalcoatl would like a spicy chili cocoa, hot sauce whip on top, and a sweet scone for Cortés 'cause he's a big sissy who can't handle the zest ("Can't believe they thought he was me."). Serve up the serpent with a sense of flare, because the world didn't end and it won't end for a long time unless the mortals have their say over sugary mochas and latte manic experiments. Mmm, whisk the cinnamon a little bit stronger - cooled bicep, tough palate, crisp tongue over brown lips, and I'll stroke the feathers on the big boy's back as he creates a roomy festival in the shop, while everyone sips and sighs and stares at the choco-guzzling morning star.

My husband and I, we weren't very close. He was not the brightest blossom in the garden of roses. Too fragile, too limp, too wilted, too gray. He was never a rip-roaring fun kind of display. I'd look at the other flowers swaying in the breeze. They were glistening with dew and my God, how they pleased my sore eyes. My husband was never quite as adorned, though he certainly was equipped with plenty of thorns.