(for Lauren Pace)
“Lauren,” said Poe, “I find your brow attractive.
It reveals intellect beyond the norm.
You needn’t think my head is hyperactive
In amative concerns. Not even warm,
My dear! I just admire the brainy form
Your forehead takes – as many poets must.
I do not gather up a whirling storm
Of longing to disturb my mortal dust.
I am a genius, Lauren, you can trust.
I view you as another lost Lenore
To be by Frenchmen endlessly discussed—
A babe of sense, respected to the core.
So understand me, girl – and join the ranks!”
Lauren’s smile never left her face: “No, thanks!”