Long arm
Shuttling on the wrist
Traveling in no retreat
Leather Tightness
Let me go
Where minutes and seconds
Require me to
Short arm
Which cycle do you run
Wrinkles on my brow
An office with a waiting chair
Signalled by short arm
And a little spare
Memories of time and you
The blowing wind
Leaves you untouched
In your Plastic face
Which was once glass
But was replaced
The reason for sequence
And harmony
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem