In  the summer they joked
that she came from a place so cold
that in winter, a mans laughter would freeze in his throat,
choking him to death.

I awoke from the dream
vomiting the wine onto my sister
and her new dress,
but mostly onto her.

The party had died down by then.
I was sad to have missed it,
but sadder to long for my dream,
and her,
and her most of all.

She moved in beauty,
like darkness within a shadow.
Pinkish skin like that of a new born,
and hair kissed by fire.

The corridor came crashing down
as I longed for her being
while trembling at the hint of her oblivion,
slowly permeating like winter's cold.
The clouds gathered, and Vesuvius rumbled
in the distance.

I crept up on her
in the vague moonlight,
and she whispered;
“I am Vishnu, destroyer of worlds.”
Still... I longed.