How many nights do you think about me, about the first time we kissed in the Black Forest? How many nights do you think about me, when we first made love in the swamp of despair? The shrieks of agony and pain chilling us to our very essence as your cold and lifeless skin rubbed against mine and I thrusted myself inside your corpse-like womb. How many nights do you stay up because your body yearns for my touch, for my lips against yours, my tongue dragging along your body, my hand caressing your thigh and making its way upward? How many nights do you stare out the window at the forest, watching as the black aura permeates from the trees into the midnight blue sky? How many nights do you see my face amongst the stars as they dance and wink? How many nights do you walk outside and embrace the frigid air, trying to mimic the coldness of my touch, the icy seduction that accompanies my kiss, the loving yet frightening gaze I have when I look into your eyes. I know that gaze, I know it very well. I look at myself with that gaze every time I come across a mirror. How many nights do you walk through the Black Forest, caressing the trees as you pass, watching the creatures of the night run amok and hunt for prey, some too fast for your eyes to catch, others at a slow and leisurely pace? How many nights do you search for me in that swamp, returning to the place we made love, the place our mutual despair, hopelessness and desperation met and created a ecstasy akin to spiritual enlightenment, akin to being touched by God’s hands and being blessed for everlasting joy and happiness? How many nights do you breath in the dark and mysterious air and exhale black smoke, making all sorts of interesting shapes such as hearts, circles, arrows, and the like? I ask these questions because I’m curious I ask these questions because I want to know I ask these questions because I want to confirm if what I’ve said is true. I ask these questions because everything you see in me, I see in you.