Tuesday, September 17, 2024

Deja You


Like a word trapped on the tip of a tongue

my every atom

vibrates

with forgotten knowledge of you.

Haunted.

Every note tastes like you

otherwise discordant.

A bell wrung

notes foreign and familiar equal in unfathomable measure

drive me mad with a sense of unreasonable familiarity.

the sorcery of past lives

What was when?

 And now is how...

am I supposed to choose?  

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