Beauty with a Complex

He can be a Carolina Reaper

The sting clinging on the corners of my tongue 

He can be a concentrated heat

That sweltering passion turning belt loops into an easy ash 

He can be the fire in my throat

A temptation to surrender morality on a silver platter

For a single rose of hydration

He can be an ice cube

A solid mold of liquified pseudo-strength

He can be a cold flame licking the palm of a hand

An after-effect of holding his fragility just a little too tight 

He can be a puddle of yearning

It doesn't matter how welcoming the warmth is

For he will always return to the freezer

He can be a peach

A smile radiating ripe hues that beg to be devoured 

He can be a watercolor sunset on soft skin

His hands leaving childish chalk marks on a white canvas 

He can be a yellow-fleshed sweetness

Leaving a subtle tang behind the kindest of words

For he will always be the best of good

He can be a fig

A potential nesting place for wasps of trickery 

He can be the sap sticking to the exterior 

His words of spite irritating the skin 

He can be a bloodied mess of reds and violets 

His darkness tainting the pleasure

For he contains a sliver of bad blood

He can be the sunlight through the trees 

His words offering solace in its warmth 

He can be the shimmer on the leaves

A source of beauty for the confidence he builds in others 

He can be the reflection on the dew

Creating a glimmering path

For he can be a guide of light

He can be the shadow at my feet

Taunting the light to drown in its abyss

He can be a black figure painted on the concrete 

His humanity blinded by the lack of color 

He can be a darkened shade

Ignoring the light and igniting furious tendencies 

For sometimes the darkness can win

He can

Drink fire

Squeeze ice cubes 

Taste the sweet 

Feel the sting 

Dance in the sun

Tango with the demons

For he can be everything