Casanova

 
He was the light that showed me
only what he knew I should see,

the light that revealed back onto him
what I otherwise smelled in the dark

He was the light that warmed me, and
then went out, denying me that warmth.

The light that guided, leading me
forward, to where there was only pain.

He became all that I made of him,
blinding me, of knight taking rook.

If I had chosen a path more worn for
the ease it offered to those inclined.

Yet my trust, in spite of the scorn,
moved me to tears as he saw me reach,

taking his hand, using him as my sight,
remembering a photograph in reverse,

of what I felt and sensed, but could not see;
the casa to his nova, of a love perverse.        
.