Plastic Baby

He does not have
my long, reaching fingers,
he does not have
your deep,
searching eyes.
He is a machine with
a sound box and
a plastic,
flawless exterior.
His lips are frozen
in a tiny
smile.
He cries, but
he will never know
the taste
of tears.
Funny how reproduction works
these days,
I guess
we've moved on
from life.
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