I fear you. I do. I fear my fascination with you. I pull away like the planets press against their rings around the sun, Reaching for the stillness of the dark beyond But bound by dazzling heat and light. Sometimes I see my death in your eyes Like a moth sees its immolation in the filaments of a lightbulb But sacrifices life to be For a moment Finally warm.
I trust you As much as one can trust something wild: I understand That to touch you might leave Scars on my hands, But I think that they would be scars I would cherish in my later years And trace among the creases of age As proof that I had lived without regret.
It is not the heat I fear, In truth It is the cold. It is the passing Of something bright Close beside me and then Beyond Off into the world Where I may not follow.
It is the blindness that always comes When I look away from a brilliant light And am for a moment paralyzed By the cold certainty that I will never see again:
I would leave you with something to remember me by, Some love that refuses to fall away no matter the storm, No matter the chaos of your fire. Something quiet and constant And more enduring than I am.
I fear not what you are But what you aren't Which, like black water, Will rush in to fill the void Once you have gone.