Freely going into
the depths of you
once again...
Surrounded by the dust,
swimming in the thorns
that rip into
the nostalgia and
broken smiles.
I put you in the box,
and had hope that you would
dissolve.
The photographs,
the poems,
the love letters...
You were my faultless seraphim;
My poetic disaster.
In my dreams,
I put the black and ivory keys
In my hair.
And watched your fingers dance
Within my sepia locks.
Lurid tendencies,
Immaculate haunting...
I was in love with a poet...
...a dangerous extreme
Involuntary suicide.
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