THE ILLUSIONIST

I didn't realise it was a trick then,
Lying gratified on his messy bed.
I watched him stride graciously from the misty bathroom,
Wet and bold,
Like an ancient sea god.
I was overwhelmed by his beauty,
A creation so humble,
Yet very attractively smug.
Behold, he was royalty,
My King,
I swore to be submissive to the end.

He was very much real,
Yet,
Now as I type these words away,
I doubt my sanity.
I recall his musk, his warmth, his voice,
I hold on to the plans we made.
However, a piece of his face escapes my mind each day,
Like dead gods,
Mythical and forgotten.

One moment I was on his bed,
The next,
All things living went boom,
Swallowed in a foggy smoke.
My King was gone,
As so were memories I thought once existed.

He tricked me good,
The master of all things real,
He had defied the rules of nature.
My King was Judas.
My King was Yakutsk.
My King was an illusionist,
And I was clearly a piece of his trick!