keep him as an unknown, do not
soil him:
he is nothing yet, he is just
shy; the infinity
of possibility
in glass lights, in small
smiles.
do not drain him out,
or make him (yet another)
overly-constructed fiction
living in the city of the dead,
whores cheering
for rat fights
and love sold like boredom.
he is too beautiful for you; if you
are to be let into nothing
once again,
do not drag him down too.
the last pavilion 