An Initiation

Shine. See the the smooth black oak
Shine to it?
Dark. Four thin
long lines on each square 

Big enough to fit in the 

hollow of your hand. 'Lindt' 

in curly letters, scrawled 

diagonally on each piece.

Snap. Hear the snap as I break 

it? Pop of air from between 

your lips, clean, powder-less 

break. Take the piece. Hold it 

between your three fingers 

feel the edges melt into the 

grooves of your skin.

Smell. Sniff it. Heady, strong,

intoxicating. suffocate. You 

cannot drown in this smell 

this unique smell that only 

Eighty five per cent Coal black chocolate can 

Give you 

but 

you can Suffocate in it yes it 

tends to overpower you 

completely until you're 

smelling through the pores of 

your face even the holes 

in your ears the slip of air 

behind your eyes. Smell. 

Let it overtake you.

Bite.

Swirl. Suck. Nibble a little. 

Bitter coat on your tongue 

turning sour and then 

nauseous and flood of 

feeling tight very tight 

little little drunk but 

in a good magic lights 

exploding in my head kind 

of way with my heart 

melting swimming in butter 

and cocoa spilling 

into all the nerves of 

my body and 

taking over vibrating 

through my pores 

I have liquid heart flowing in 

my nerves liquid heart 

Vibrating.

An Interlude

Of shadows and that thing between darkness and light.

It is so hot. 

So hot.

I have both fans running full blast and still my armpits, un-waxed and sweaty, smell. I lift my legs, cross,

touch. 

Huge, Goliath-an, flat black imprints on the ceiling. 

Rusty white ceiling.

I close my fist on the fan. Squeeze. Pressing air out as if juice from an orange. Spinning white orange.

On the ceiling the hair on my skin is invisible, the filed tips of my nails blurred into my podgy fingers. The ceiling tells no lies. It is more truthful than the mirror that dissects your face into colours, the photograph that distorts disfigures you into muck-white, plastic-thin statuettes.

The ceiling talks only of shapes. 

Larger than life.

Blacker than midnight. 

It outlines you.

Swallows you.

Whole.

Unbroken.

Plasters your protrusions to make you smooth, shiny, 

scarily real.