A Poem by Edward BossApril 16, 2013 I wrote this in 1997, after a lover died of AIDS-related causes at 29 years old. His life was sex, meth and partying. I foolishly followed him. Below is only the last page of the complete poem, which is much longer. On gossamer wings in the trickery of altered sight, Damn the endless night, Come back my fair-haired brother before the sun of morning Then again at dawn weary We are surely not alone Go now spirit empty, This article was provided by 2013 Poetry Month at TheBody.com.
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