Achelois

unhand me, that i may find myself
as flecks of gold along the Tigris-Euphrates,
as waters for lakes to house every low moon
forming dust in my wake.

even through ache, in absence i yearn only
for my name on your lips, that you remember me so;
that even if late, i shall witness your voice
spoken with presence as presently is,

i will find your heart —
and not merely echoes.

— A. P.

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