so much less repulsive, I thought,
      than tissue
threaded through by blood--

like the raw flesh of passion?

When I woke, I was dead sure
      of what it meant: it was a warning
about his nature, I told him.

Why did he bitterly ask me
      to stare
into my dream like a mirror?

Telling dreams is unsafe as love,
like any mirror stared in by two.