He is depression and cynicism wrapped in charisma and a killer smile,
but he’s good really, in his blue and grey soul.
I’m not really afraid of him, not anymore.
I love him and he said I was like the sun once.
There’s an edge to him, to his knife-like smile,
a strange violence in flinty, beautiful eyes,
as sharp as his intelligence are his features.
His name means Light Giving, and there is a light in him,
No matter how buried in charcoal dust it may be,
and there is a saint with his name,
the saint of doctors and artists, isn’t that funny?
I live in hope that he will love without reserve,
Himself and others,
I am trying to explain why I shattered my ice,
Why I let emotion and feeling flood my heart,
I don’t know if he understands yet,
But I know he will.