I day dream about him breaking into my room while I am still asleep. He reaches slowly for the book laying next to me and puts it on my nightstand. He crawls over me in bed and puts his mouth close to my ear. I am slowly shaken by his breath and moan, my body begins to stretch out from its origin. His mouth hovers all over me without touching and I am brought to desire by this anticipation, by this tease, of prolonged unfulfillment. He is over me like a dark cloud which storms without rain. I think, at first, that I do not want him to touch me, because the sooner this begins, the sooner it will end. I remain in the fetus to avoid finitude. It churns as it incubates, the fantasy, it rolls over in its ocean, indistinct, unborn.

In absence, there is possibility. In action, there is exclusivity, defining by a choice which rules out other choices. I fear these limits, knowing they can't compare to my own fantasy.

You must break me to enter, shake me sane. And your realness is made unreal by how unexpected it is.

"Every man takes the limits to his own field of vision for the limits of the world."

Each little atomic world. This is where interaction occurs. This is where I slide down the chute. You, foreigner, are alien to me, beyond my imagination, unheard of, unthought of.

His phantom unbounds me from myself, inch by inch, into that new fetus, the one which has no egg or room to lay in. I sleep in a bed of invisible yokes to acquaint myself with it, unseen, unknown.

Stranger, bring me to that bed, lift me from my own, that marriage of unmarriage, promise of no-promise, faith of no-faith.

Give me that freedom.