With Sisyphus' inner thoughts at bay
Mirrored in childhood psyche
I get the end of winter alone.
My son a groove in the dining chair
My lover a buoy thrown to the swimmer
I can't explain-
As the bees mirror my forehead.
The architecture has always crumbled and burned-
I could not find the exact materials
But one said plasticine could handle more tension,
Than being alive with displaced eyes.
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