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A bit of (bad) poetry

I am a ruined building for your haunting -
A perilous stability now barely holding.
The drift of perfume down a corridor
Teases the senses into grieving;
Words echo, muffled, twisted into lies.
And yet I cannot bring myself to summon
Bell, book and candle for your exorcism.

Not what I wanted, but a hint of it, maybe.



( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jan. 21st, 2005 03:33 am (UTC)
I like the poem, very Poe'esque
Jan. 29th, 2005 04:34 am (UTC)
I like it a lot.

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )