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How our senses play games with our mind
Memories brought to the fore by a distant ghost
A relic of times perhaps happy, maybe painful,
And yet the hinge to all things private

Ensconced somewhere rooted below our inner being
Is a wealth of palpable keepsakes
Hidden beneath our world weary exterior
A treasure trove of misplaced trinkets

The peachy smell that evokes baby's sweet flesh
Flashbacks to maternal yearnings
The sticky fragrance of strawberry jam
And picnics on the beach ebb with faraway tides

Thick, rich broths that unravel an endless hunger
Slabs of warmed bread that crumble and soak
Fat Bramley apples where both hands were needed
Plucked from the tree and baked until soft

Tiny fragments of forgotten sight or sound
Tantalising bouquet and a sudden caress
Our mind takes flight of fancy and
We are transported to a mystical reflection

By these means we keep hold of our subconscious
Where the unexpected unties a plethora of finest feelings
A place we can unlock and visit
And retain a grip of what we will always hold dear

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