He is dark,
A shadow, seeping into every corner
of my mind.
I feel his presence
When I stand
alone
in the dark.
He joins me in my solitude
And spreads throughout my soul
as I change to match his energy.
He is the night.
He is the midnight blackness of the trees against a navy sky.
He is water like ink splish-splashing quietly in the deep.
He is cold, his soul almost empty.
Almost.
He kills the light, bludgeons it viciously as the sun's gore flies.
Is there any compassion left in him?
Can he love
one
more
time?
He is beautiful, mysterious, intriguing.
I will spend the rest of my life trying to understand him, but
never
come
close.
He is Love and possession and power.
He is ferocity contained in silent stillness.
He was never a child, and did not come from Earth, but has always been there
in space
waiting
for
me.