The Fourth Letter

She is my perfect imperfection,

The nightmare within the music,

The folly of wisdom,

The most pleasurable pain,

With her agony is ecstasy,

Dangerous elixir of my soul.

I die a thousand deaths in her arms,

Resurrected in her fires,

In her, I am the Phoenix,

The endless, the end.

She is a figment, a ghost,

The tease, the temptress,

The abyss into which everything disappears.