Dear Edgar, tell me, what is it you would do?
Did your love make you a prisoner, too?
You crafted her poems and she loved you,
But that doesn’t work for me, no matter what I do.

Dear Poe, you were a cryptologist, you can solve this code?
The answer must be hidden, but the window has narrowed.
He keeps his soul hidden, where none have burrowed,
But ever since I found him, time has simply slowed.

© Delia Ross. 2019

I suppose he would die of a drunken, broken heart, naked and broke on the streets. Feels vaguely familiar…