Plahm offers a confession disguised as an incantation: the repetitive “Oh—oh—oh” and “Woe—woe—woe” create a ritualistic quality, as if the poet is casting a spell of his own dissolution. What makes this piece distinctive is its self-awareness—the speaker knows he’s choosing fantasy over reality (“a rumor that walks in a whiff of perfume,” “a creation of my mind”) yet surrenders anyway. The structure spirals inward, each stanza peeling away another layer of self until the poet evaporates “in that liminal space—fog and echoes.” The closing image of a candle blown out in the wind carries echoes of Elton John’s famous elegy, repositioning romantic obsession as a kind of beautiful self-destruction. This is love poetry that questions whether the object of desire is even needed—or whether the longing itself has become the beloved.

A hypnotic meditation on romantic obsession that succeeds through sheer emotional honesty. The incantatory repetitions (Oh—Yes—No—Woe—My) could feel gimmicky but instead create genuine momentum, building toward the devastating final surrender. Plahm’s willingness to name his delusion—”a creation of my mind”—gives the piece intellectual weight alongside its emotional pull. The “candle in the wind” allusion adds cultural resonance without feeling derivative. Some middle stanzas meander slightly, and the accumulation of romantic tropes occasionally tips toward excess. But the closing lines land with real power: this is a poet who understands that sometimes we don’t want rescue from our beautiful prisons.