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Ancient You speak to me of mysteries about an ancient lingual art Mysteries I long to weave From the blood threads of my heart We could be friends or We could be lovers If not for this series of narrow misses, broad ideas, other lovers, fear of change and imagined kisses. And even though we've never met I feel your touch across the years, My long dead soul mate in my arms despite the distance and blood-tinged tears. You and I are myth-makers Forming our tale of painful pasts Creating a love, a story, An eternal poem that never lasts. Without consent I've become the central character of your tragedy Afraid of finding my tragic flaw and destroying you for the good of me.
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