This poem is delightful. While I was dropping a load in your mom's face last night, Fiddlesticks, I made sure to serenade the tired old hag with a few lines from this romantic gem.

Poe in a ballerina outfit? That's hot.

If anyone could sing the fairies down from the trees lat at night, it's you Zen.

Excellent and crazy. The fact that you write about fairies with the same glee that you write about blood and death and spiritual agony is about as creepy as Edger Allen Poe in a ballerina outfit.