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A Mad Man's Muse

They call me a mad man's muse
a fact I am adapted to,
a lesbian, and why is a question
for maybe I haven't known
what a knight in shining armour is
loosers in aluminium antonyms
are all that were in form
and so for them, I maybe
a lover of women.


I have learned wisdom
with the eyes of another women
it wasn't my shy smile
that would wax a wife
but their captive coon,
there have been mothers, brides
and even lovers
not one the evidence of an Eve
I've always wished to be.

That makes me a hubristic harlot
a dirtier drab than Rahab
and since no one has come down
till this day, to save me
they dissolve my dream
calling me a despotic dame.

As everytime I write a word
I trust the truth behind
the oratory oxymorons,
sweetening the tongue of my poems
She eats with a lilting laugh
as I know who feeds her everyday
and to trust,
they don't need to be told
my smile has a million synonyms
each waiting for a poem.

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Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me

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