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.