Poe to My Annabelle Lee
It comes as suddenly as a cool gust of breeze.
All at once I'm overwhelmed with nerves.
Soothed by the dripping hum of the honey bees.
Cradled by mother nature's curves.
This feeling, though abrupt, is always welcome.
It has no name yet its presence, enough to suffice.
Longing for more, I pray our visits cease to be seldom.
In return, my time but a humble price.
So naturally it captures the topic and my attention.
Like a vintage princess in the nigh night dancing to blues.
Her curled lips, classic hair, and swaying dress, a treason not to mention.
Under the stunning stars, I wish to reflect that beauty, but given to me, merely clues.
Her eyes lure me in, and I happily let her hold the conversation.
For her laughs invade my mind and I can't explain a laugh like that.
Though rupturing with ideas and words, her presence is unyielding meditation.
Forever I try to hold her captive, but as free as the clouds she cannot be latched.
So long I wish to hold these evening chats between you and me.
Until unmasked I'll call you poetry.
For your presence is revealed by the natural breeze and the hum of the honey bee.
For now I'll call you poetry, the Poe to my Annabelle Lee.
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