Iridescent black hole

What the hell could I say to you
That would illustrate the basest feeling
I hold in your regard?
I try to map out the perfect explanation,
Fit all the pieces together to make a whole
That is beautiful and moving,
Like a sweeping score that crescendos
Until the emotive climax that sends you to tears;
But every time I dare to utter a word,
The breath escapes my lungs
And I choke,
As though my subconscious recognizes
That to speak of you so inadequately
Is sheer sacrilege,
Because you are beyond labeling or possessing.
The immaculacy of your bravura
Devolves me into a nervous fit—
Worse each time than before—
For you are worthy of nothing less than unadulterated pleasure
And gifts even a monarch wouldn’t inherit;
But for all my posturing,
I am not the embodiment of grace or sanctity you are merited,
And to be anything less is to be undeserving of your majesty.


Greater Than Perfection

Enveloped by light

I will not mythologize you
Or twist you into something you’re not,
Perverting you with delusion and fantasy.
I would never need to do that,
Because if I did, it would fall far short
Of your deified existence.
Neither will I allow you
To be blasphemed by notions of perfection
That would only dilute your essence
And ignore the fact that you are far greater;
Everything society would call a flaw
Forms a whole incomprehensible,
And I, uncorrupted by society’s notions
Of love, perfection, and happiness,
Know that you are just as you should be,
And were you anything else,
You couldn’t be a fraction of what you are.
Every facet of your being—
Your voice, your smile,
And even that which the world,
In its sophomoric perception,
Perceives as flaws—
Makes even the angels,
The beings closest to God,
This is not mythology
Or some ill-conceived notion of perfection;
This is merely the truth that has taken hold of me,
So I know, given choice or freedom,
I would never live in another age or place,
Because then I would never know you,
And you’re worth every horror and sin
This world could ever produce.