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My muse's name is not a word-
-rather, strummed along on strings
From the apple of my eye she came
When my thoughts first were to be
Her body sways when someone sighs,
Lost in the art of remembering,
And on silent thoughts she sates her need
snatched from the cracks in my logic
Draped in the sound of a baby crying,
She dances to the control room of the universe
and steals files from the forgotten drawers
and tucks them into houses made
from a thousand Chinese fortunes
Wearing her necklace made from phoenix tears,
She pounces on my mind
And instills within
The empty space
The unmarred thoughts I'm needing



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