Before your dreams fell apart I was a different thing. Before I learned to carry the light I was nothing more than a shattered mirror.
You were one of the few people I had felt I could trust among a sea of those of the rightful people in their rightful lands, even if their possession of it was manufactured and their very ownership of it under constant dispute. It felt easy to look into your eyes, even as an interloper of no import.
Before this fur and eyes and mouth of mine were changed as such, you loved the way I tasted. I loved the way you did too, it tasted like you. The perfect taste for something that I could never stand to eat, until that moment at least.
The iron tinge of blood rose from you in the currents of the air. I licked your finger and took it into my mouth before I helped you clean and bandage it: enjoying the taste of your spill more than I should, than any human should. I was open to you about that, and you touched my hands and said that you didn’t mind, and in your eyes I saw that same social rend, but that you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that you were also an interloper. I told myself I would bring any solution I found myself to you too.
Before the sun filters down through the canopy above us and you look at me so angrily, so beautiful and complete, just like I knew that you’d want to look today, the time for you to take me into yourself comes. The first bright of the sun reflects in your eyes as a light flash as you pant and stretch your new and abused muscles.
For my blood and viscera and soul to pass into you as you bare your claws and overpower me. As you rip my chest apart I feel myself drift into you.
Now we’ll never be apart.