His/Hers Poem by James McLain

The beauty is; that you are with me,
Plus it is deeper
than the deepest sea.
But that of which,
your beauty cannot begin to explain:
Is the devil which gives me/your pain.
That it burns like the burning rain.
And as I look at you, I will know why you are,
Beauty itself,
as if the beauty - is as is - costly - one individual.
The beauty is always a curse which,
flutters it's wings in the air.
And fragrant at each end,
is the straw with which her/his it comes rigorously
independently and like a bolt of lighting,
puts a cold in those hearts
then freezes his/hers it occupies for eternity
and for all but one hour
it burns as beauty teaches it, how it yearns.