Of Castles and Dragons

d e s i d e r a t u m

   He was so painfully beautiful,
like a supernova
annihilating the senses—
     my eyes
          bleed of tragedies
               whenever I gaze
                    at all of his
              different faces.
   He was familiar
and confusing
all at the same time,
a deadly spool
     of all the words
          I could never rhyme.
   His eyes, his laugh, his voice
bring galaxies
to a staggering halt.
And his smile . . .
               damn.
     Don't even
          get me
               started
                    with that.
   He was dawn and dusk,
purity and smut,
faith and doubt.
He was
     all the things
          poets die
               to write about.
   Because he was,
he's always been,
so painfully goddamn beautiful,
so mercilessly
     enthralling,
          deliciously cruel.
   He's a dagger to my throat,
a reminder of all
the things that I must be.
And he
     will quite surely be
          the exquisite
          death
          of
          me.