I am a man: black with green eyes, strong hands but gentle. I lay on the sidewalk eating dates. While, she, my love: fair-hair and pink skin in floral print dress stands next to the fruit cart. She rips open an orange and bites into it like a lion tearing at a thigh. Juice pours down her neck. Flesh thrashes out into the air. Pulp lands on her sun dress and then falls to the floor as petals: periwinkle.

The owner of the market, an old lady, falls to her knees and kisses the hem of my beloved's dress, then prays. I kiss my love under hair on nape of neck and feel a change in me. I become white and a woman: a magician.

We thank the old lady as we lift her off the floor and continue on our way. Within a blink, we are on the outskirts of town at a local art gallery, standing in front of bold hues and slanted lines melding into curves finding their way into almost recognizable shapes: still chaotic in calm, as does this life we lead, duality makes us pause, but not stop.

When she, my beauty, sheds a tear; the drop drifts down the strength of her jaw waits at the edge until full, then falls off in slow motion until it settles on her breast and soaks the rim of her sundress. Without transition snowflakes appear, one by one, cascade down her dress, in turn, creating more snowflakes from every one that melts back into the cloth.

She turns to me and lifts my chin, looks into my eyes and tells me, she loves me. I know this to be true. Then suddenly we are on a stage and I being the magician, and man again, turn the ceiling into sky causing rain drops to fall.

Before one soul could feel their wet, each drop transforms into a tiny rainbow and glistens upon the heads of the audience. Just as air glides over teeth into mouth into lungs: smooth: my lady lifts off the stage and with wings, flutters in place.

At that moment, I realize that I am no magician, nor man nor woman, just human and in love and in awe. Without hesitation I lean forward and kiss her mouth.

This woman; bright ethereal beams multifaceted, all surrounding, becomes a life force. Her stomach bulges before the shift of light itself can change.

There, just beneath the hem of her dress appear two children: walking bare, eyes like mine. She lifts them into her arms, spreads her wings: golden shimmer trimmed in Peridot and Garnet.

She, now, raven hair, light caramel skin beauty, flies over, showers us with petals and snowflakes. As we reach for her gifts, she kisses us good-bye.