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muse*ic

we possess
an inexplicable instinct for each other

this day
the center of my forehead burns
in the knowing

my molecules feel you
soldiering forth
while sitting before a type writer
the desk and world
of your own construction

longing auricles
listening for
the sound of my heels
walking toward you

waiting to hear me sigh

quarter notes no one else would know float past

we have become a love story

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