rand(thought)

[blastedheath]

You say, "Yes. A goth, raven-based harpy. 'Lenore, Annabel Lee, oh, he'd write on a desk, but he'd never write on me! Even after I brought those edible paints in.'"

Comments

[anonymous]

I understood the title, but not the thought XD

[blastedheath]

Picture it: Boston, 1845, a young woman of feathered persuasion pining for the fjordsa poet who would rather wax rhapsodical over dead, fictional women than engage in amorous play with her.

...

It's a Poe joke.