Poe himself might have written about us, darling,
because we love with a love that is
stronger and deeper than the frenzied passions of most.

The regrettable distance isn’t unlike the imprisonment
of the beloved Annabel Lee in her ocean side tomb;
we are tangibly separated from our lovers
(each other)
by forces that we cannot change,
but come night we sleep side by side,
if only in dreams and fantasies.

Mayhap mere mortals were never allowed
the divine perfection I find so readily in your arms,
but you always looked like a rebel runaway angel boy to me.