O the lonely heart that yearns for days of yore,
A violin draped supine in its case
With taut strings that tremble music never more,
What bow can bring you a lover’s lost embrace?
Ah, but silence awes the muscles to clench
Like the salt of orgasm dissolved from a sea of tears;
Oh lonely heart, would that you could wrench
The wheels of time to quench the wound that sears!
No, I cannot relinquish what is not mine
Nor placate the past to unfurl tomorrow’s flag;
For in your repose you commit the crime
Of trading song for healing’s eternal gag.
So, o lonely heart, do what you must!
Sing! Speak! Let loose the torrent
That stirred your romance and your lust,
And let not solace become a thing abhorrent
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