Dream monster has your eyes and the mole at your nape.
Dream monster has your name, your voice, and your fears.

Its eyes are beads. The beads, a precursor to a prayer.
You will not touch them. You will let them keep their magic,

let them grow heavy as the narrative of fear, the slow
disenchantment trickles down onto its lids.

Dream monster’s flesh parts until you are completely inside it.
Mouthless, it cannot call out. You hear its groaning for miles.