In the dense depths of union

  
 I thought. Once upon a time. You were my lover, perhaps. A kind of love, yours and mine. Unequal, forbidden, defiant, antisocial.
  
 I saw you, as a lover. Day after day. Months, years. I watched.
  
 You came close. Slowly. Came closer, still. Took possession, of my entire heart. In time.
  
 Some deprivations. Along with burn marks, some pain—blue-colored. All of it covered. In a coating of happiness. You gave it. Very secretly.
  
 Days didn't stop. A few more months. You're not quite my lover. Something else. Something different. I understood that. That something...what exactly? I didn't understand.
  
 I want to tell you something...about to say...you understand it all, beforehand. Precisely. What I don't explain, you understand that too. Or I do explain, but I myself don't understand. You know telepathy, it seemed.
  
 I thought. Many things. Suddenly! I felt like writing something. Poetry. Songs. Stories, sometimes. I wrote too. Poetry. Then what? Poetry, once again.
  
 You remained. In each one. In every line, in the entire atmosphere. At the source, in the soul, at the end. Some poems, full of you. Living, fresh. Always.
  
 I think of you. I turn you into poetry. I make you the poet, too. Even when it's a story.
  
 Everything else is false. Some haze. None of them exist in the poetry. You understood, somewhat. Didn't you understand?
  
 Some more time. Some shadows ended. I understood, again. You're not my lover. You're not mine, at least. What are you, then? A being. A story, incomplete. A world, under construction and hidden. A vermillion dot, blood-red.
  
 A 'you,' personal. 'You' formal, sometimes. Donkey, monkey, goat. Dog, pig. Can be called these things too. Anytime. When needed, when not needed. Relevantly, irrelevantly. Curses and taunts? Yes, works a little. In light moods, sometimes.
  
 Some conditions, for being a beloved. Some grammar, with it. Everyone follows. I didn't see, didn't know, didn't follow—all these things. Nothing at all, absolutely nothing. A signature, on white paper. I do, three times. Vermillion, in the hair parting. None of this was needed. Only the heart was needed. Nothing else. What had to happen, happened. Time knew everything.
  
 A signature. Two hearts. Some witnesses. Does that make it? Everything?
 A ritual. Two hearts. Some witnesses. Does that make it? Everything?
 No, I think...I was wrong; no, definitely!
  
 It happened. It was meant to happen. Changed—your name, your identity, your place. Mine...a mirror, a soul, a life. You became...everything...I became too. In the same way. Identical thoughts, decisions, paths. Both of us. Separate, never!
  
 Know love, beloved love.