I am certain she does not love me
the way that I love her
so full,
so poetically passionately,
so self-destructively,
so lovely,
In all her darkness.

A black sun that burns brighter
than any celestial body;
I would let myself burn
to touch it,
to see it I would let
myself go blind.

I hope she does not mind
that I love her so deeply.
I give it freely,
not expecting anything
explicit in return.

Hoping that she
will always be merely
one poem or message
away from me.