Mnemosyne

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It was the Forgive Me
that made my heart stop
in its tracks.
Something about not being
able to help yourself
far-flung ideals
scattered.
What was awakened
from its sleepy
exile?
An old name whispered
like a slow honey drip
is almost more
than ears can allow.
Almost.
Perhaps it is a muse
you need.
Because oh, my my…
the ache alone
could be
brilliant.

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