Gentle words had been my weaponsnCareful openness, and fragile honestynHad gradually begun to slowly win him overnAnd somehow had lured him herennDespite my obvious display of defectnMy miserable frailtynOf which I never made a secretnI disarmed him with my sinceritynThat never waned, despite the laughternOf public insult, ridiculenNot even when confessing meantnTurning myself into a wretched foolnnSome men are like chocolate,nBut most of them are like shitnAnd if you don’t have the experience to spot that tiny differencenYou’re likely to fall for all of itnnIn secret on thosenRare occasionsnWhen no living soul was nearnNo eyes, no earsnNo other peoplenWere around to see or hearnSo there was no danger of some chance intrudernTo doubt his manliness and strengthnThen suddenly his words grew gentler,nAnd his gestures slightly changednnHe did not seem to mind my presence at allnCame even closer of his own accordnYet still he veilednEach subtile revelationnIn rough-cut gowns of what we call ’the accidental touch’nnSome men can truly be like chocolate,nBut most of them are more like shitnAnd if you don’t have the experience to spot that subtle differencenYou’re likely to fall for all of itnnSome men are like chocolate,nBut most of them are like shitnAnd if you don’t have the experience to spot that subtle differencenYou’re likely to fall for nThe mere promise of a kissn