Like the best rope made by the Egyptian
Strongly attached, yet gently holds me
Abseiling the cliff where the dusk comes from

It is nothing but you are

The sword of swords
The god of craftsmen
The one who carved roses
Out of solid ivories within my bosom

If only Hephaestus did not imprison me first…

*photo from:
**an old untitled poem until today. I just found it on my old notebook.

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