There's me gowned up
with so much to think about...
So I shave,
And when I sneeze
a long silvery lace
dangles from my upper lip,
As the mirror reflects
back like some hesitant
photographer,
Switching on the tap
isn't easy,
everything is rushing
down the sink into somewhere...
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem