at the bar
for a one night stand
holding a glass
of vintage cognac
in his hand.
With a raven
on his shoulder
and those penetrating eyes
everything
in his sight
eventually dies.
Granted
he was underdressed
and deathly pale.
How could a love
like ours
ever fail?
Now you see
I have an open mind
and never let it rust
when driven
by the lurid thought
of eternal lust
for a man who stuffs
his jewels
into a little black pouch.
E. A. Poe,
in his gothic speedo,
was no slouch.
He was my ding dong daddy
and I became
his salivating bride.
All of the flowers
in my hair
suddenly died.
After reading his seedy poetry
he delivered
the final chill
before going,
slowly and skillfully,
in for the kill.
I sacrified the damnation
of my cursed life
to this cunning knave.
We now lay together,
face to face,
in our freshly dug grave.
Then I woke up
catching my breath
and in a cold sweat
from a bad dream
about a stranger
leaving me bloody wet.
So the next time
in that bar
I'll surely know
to refuse
any pickup line
from Mister Edgar Allan Poe!
******************************