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bittersweet storms
ocean blue tears
at least now
you and me
are equal
there were days
I danced with angels
and found poetry

I wrote sonnets
and wore us like jewellery
together, we were so
Anais Vionet May 16
Edgar Alan Poe is dead. Seriously, I read it.
He died in October 1849 - or did he?
Do we really know?

Poe wrote about death a lot,
he teased with it, it was his favorite tool.
He kept death close and twisted it like a knife.

His profession was the macabre, the shadow,
the summoned dread and the gruesome aftermath.

He was a writer and a critic - what’s more dreadful than a critic?

They say he died from “unknown causes”
- how absolutely perfect.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Aftermath: the period after a destructive event.
We left Paris behind us,
shivering in
golden moonlight
and headed
for the east coast
every empty
still had
me hoping
you could
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