L’homme fatal

His eyes gleam,
Like stars shining on the waters
Of the “heart of darkness”,
They succumb you,
Into a blinding abyss.

His touch flares,
Like colliding planets,
The rush, the fall,
The bliss of the dancing lights,
The ignition behind the scars.

His charm enraptures,
Like a snowfall
On a summer’s day,
The first rain after eons of drought,
Pacific. Acidic.

He’d shower you with stardust,
Paint you auroras,
Build you a radiant bubble,
Blow with his soft breath,
And watch as you float.

Mid-flight you’ll open your eyes,
To the fading shades of light,
The chilly windstorms swirling you.
The clock has struck midnight.
He wasn’t here to stay.

He’d be the mountain you stand on,
As you watch the twilight skies,
He’d tell you you have wings,
Show you how to flap them,
Woot as you fly, your very first inch.

He’d become the blind-spot in your eyes,
The wrist clutching your windpipe,
The chains pulling you down,
The screech in your ears,
The volcano inside of you.

And in a dark lonely night,
He’d drive you to a dagger’s end,
As the maelstrom of your thoughts
Rave against your heaving breath.

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