I dance into my man, promising never to let us turn into ghosts, aimlessly traveling through an endless desert. A cross above a red pentagram, a bundle of sage rolling over a chalk pentacle. I summon the spineless three kings, choking on their eternal unrest. The window is open, letting in a breeze that seems to carry voices with it. I press my breasts into his back, so that our hearts can communicate with truth beyond fear.
It is fashionable to be thin, I say, pulling on his arms. I hang them around my neck, to look like the portrait of a fortune teller, I saw on the San Francisco pier. Her necklace was made of gold, but mine is much better. I tell him that I cannot predict the future, but I studied alchemy, when I thought I could gain something from it.
There are energy lines, coming out of his stomach, shooting directly into mine. He throws out his war, saying it is time to give it a rest. I hand him the stardust that has collected in the baskets I placed outside. The bed is warm, and the pillows are a fizzy mess of static images. Underneath us, are giant fish, holding gold coins in their bellies. Ours is a treasure of cryptic messages.
I wake up, knowing it may be years before I see him again. His face, still one of the greatest mysteries I have encountered. Often, I wonder if he could possibly exist beyond my dreams.