To the Muse So you’re back again, like a divorced husband or spoilt mistress demanding my attention. I thought you’d lost my address. Did you find it again in a wine-stained diary? a Facebook reminder? or a sip of tea and taste of madeleine? What makes you think I have time for you these days? Was it the fact that I lie awake through the night that gave you the space to step behind my eyes? Or have I been harbouring you all this time in my blood, jostling the malaria, and waiting like it to rise…
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