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240 pages, Paperback
First published September 4, 2018
She was that wild thing I loved
My dark between stars.
A troubled youth
burnt me alive
the poet came from the ashes
the words came from the fire.
❝I've always loved lavender,
it's purple in all the right places.❞
❝Wine tastes sweeter when drunk on love in Paris.❞
❝An open window in Paris
is all the world I need.❞
It is so easy to forget
we are the same as all the others
in thinking that we are different.
Atticus has always been one of the Instagram/Tumblr-y poets I've seen around, and I'm happy to have gotten a hold of his second book, after reading Love Her Wild. Although, I found I enjoyed the latter more than I did this.
The photographs are beautiful, but it nearly felt all the same as Love Her Wild, and within its own pages, therefore it became a bit tiresome. Plus, no one warned me about the couple nudes lying round. The poetry is intriguing still, but like the previous book, they were quite clichéd.
But, well, what can I say? I kind of, sort of like clichéd sometimes, not so much others. Apparently, I'm currently leaning towards the former mood.