dark chocolate

I.
bite fur &  black wrapper. my uncle &
i ate dark chocolate. we picked we 
shelf-searched for bars with
higher percentages of cacao-- 87% 92%.
trees bursting from beneath supermarket
tile floors. i pretended to like the taste-- 
tucked each piece beneath my tongue: a folded
note drenched in ink. the cacao beans were falling 
on the roof of the house & will be mistaken for hail. 
shingle by shingle, tearing off like dried finger nails-- 
the scales of a fish that only swims in black water. 
sometimes i'd spit it out (secretly of course).
i'd say this was the best-- the very best
& downstairs the rain forest would ache.
a toucan nipping at our ankles. the laugh
of the brush. swallowing. milk, smooth
as oil, setting fires on the way down. 
II.
when i moved into my new apartment
there was a bag of dark chocolate on 
top of the fridge belonging to no one. 
i sample it from time to time-- i think
of toucans. the jaguar in the washing machine. 
i eat pieces sporadically & without warning. 
i have been trying to figure out on what occasions 
i eat it. it's not out of hunger or fear. i do not
particularly like the taste-- the anger 
in each morsel. the indignation. does god keep dark 
chocolate in his cabinet? a cup of
thumb tacks? if resent had a mouth. 
three nights ago i ate 10 pieces. all
in a row. the rain forest cramping up
in the cellar-- fingers on doors. 
door knobs on tongues. the wrappers. 
i'm sorry. i'm sorry.