Her face was not the face
That launched a thousand
Ships. Faustus knew.
He had raised false dead
A thousand times, demons
Taking on forms of legends.
Faustus knew; he embraced
Her anyway. He wanted
To pretend he held true
Beauty, to believe he was
Victorious in love. Faustus
Knew, and he still begged
For his soul be ripped
From his chest, just for
The chance to kiss
Flame disguised as flesh,
Just to fill his eyes
With someone who had
Drunk war down like wine.