I love him so I come to him in his dreams, but never as myself. I went once as a raven, twice as a ghost, and thrice as his maniacal mother in disguise. Each time he knew it was me but he couldn’t say because he couldn’t give me away. I am the forbidden love affair that he tells no one of, and keeps hidden in the padlocked basement of his mind. Once I came to him as Venus, the goddess that would save him, and everyone in the dream loved me because I was beautiful and pure. When he told them all to run, they thought he was being funny. They paid the price of misplaced trust, and one by one I watched their faces twist in horror as my golden hair turned black and I grew horns and wings and when I opened my mouth, inside were seven thorny tongues, all speaking different languages – for a moment they paused, then sang his name like a choir hymn. A single tear rolled down my serpent eyes, I couldn’t stop it. And all the little humans in his dream, his past lovers and present lovers and future lovers, all ran and he ran too but they couldn’t outrun me because wherever he is, there I am. We are one soul split into two. He is I and I am him. When he dreams of a new woman he loves, there I am, a little imp hiding behind unsuspecting trees, singing my curses like requiem poetry till his love dream turns into a nightmare and he wakes sweating and shivering. The first thing he always says is my name, he can’t stop saying my name. I haven’t seen him since. He sleeps no more, says I haunt him, I hurt him. I could never hurt him, I love him. His name tastes like honey in my mouth. Every breath I draw in sings the first syllable of his name, and the breath that I exhale, the second, and so all around me the air is littered with fractured, fragmented pieces of him. I make myself dizzy breathing too fast and when they ask me why, I say I am trying to put him together. I love love love loving things and he was my favorite thing to love. But now he doesn’t dream and I haven’t seen him for days and days and days. Does he not miss me? What does my name taste like in his mouth? Does he not whisper it late in the night when he’s craving something sweet, three syllables that he slowly can’t help but love to love? Or am I once again the beggar with begging eyes begging hands begging words begging to be loved? Loved, not feared. Loved, not left. No dreams still so I turn to God, my creator, and I tell her to bring him back. Don’t you see how I bloom and blossom when I am in love, I ask her, don’t you see how I curl my hair and sing and dance and how much I love being in love? How I become a poet? How I hurt no one? She says she sees it. But she doesn’t love it. So she swoops down like a black kite and rips my lover to shreds so fast he can’t even cry. Tears of blood roll down my face (mine) and down God’s face, blood runs too (not hers). I look up and see her looking back at me, indifferent but brave, and the golden light of the sun makes her silhouette glow golden too, and she loves me I think. I think she loves me. She killed him because she loves me. And so I love her back. I love loving God and I come to her in her dreams, always as myself. Her dreams are white and alone. When I walk into them I leave behind mud-black footprints that look like a painting. In my hand is a sharp thing, I don’t know what, but it is dangerous I think because God looks scared of me when I come closer to her. I won’t hurt you, I tell her, I love you. There is no one in her dreams just like there is no one in mine. She says you love loving things, don’t you? I come closer and hold her face in both my hands. I say I do. And you’re my new favorite thing to love.