his/hers

The beauty is;
that you are with me,
Plus it is deeper than the deepest sea.
But that of which,
your beauty cannot begin to explain: Is the devil which gives me/your pain.
That it burns like the burning rain.
And as I look at you,
I will know why you are, Beauty itself,
as if the beauty - is as is - costly - one individual.
The beauty is always a curse which,
flutters it's wings in the air.
And fragrant at each end,
is the straw with which her/his it comes rigorouslyindependently and like a bolt of lighting,
puts a cold in those heartsthen freezes his/hers it occupies for eternity and for all but one hour it burns as beauty teaches it,
how it yearns.