She uncoils herself with serpentine grace, slowly, sensually. A woman who knows what she can have, and what she already has had. Beneath the satiation still lies a hunger I can barely feed, a fire that burns me over and over like a never setting Equatorial sun. I, the cold lizard that never warms up, keep coming back to bask in her glow. We sink our fangs into each other, alternately, together, until we are pierced shells: empty and hollow, with holes all over from which we have oozed emotional venom. We hide with each other, in each other, twisted like an old tree’s branches. I hide from myself with her, losing myself in her, to her, forgetting that there are hearts I am waiting to break. She still cannot see me even though she looks straight at me. She sees what I let her see and I let her keep her illusions. They are as beautiful as only shadows can be. I cannot know what she is keeping back, busy as I am with my masquerade, in step with her in this dance, both of us puppeteering colored figments in each other’s faces. Hers are a shade darker, inscrutable and drawing, pulling me dizzyingly into her orbit, faster and faster. We circle each other closely and cautiously, entwined by our fears for and of each other. Sensually curving out the other’s lines, we paint hopes and dreams on the sinking sands on which we stand, as we move deeper into a mutual destruction. We are both heroes and villains in this space where there are neither heroes nor villains. She is my saviour, she is my doom. She is whom I have shed this skin for, remaining naked, drawn out of my cave to find shelter in her curves, in the sweet pain of her bite.