Pungent, supple leather,
Hand-tooled, cornered just so.
Overlap; a folded flap.
Decorated; a soft suede,
Contrasting bow.
Its delicate tracery
Has become a talisman for
My fingers.
My world is held in its clutches.
Detritus lines its depths.
There it rests. On my lap.
At the bus stop.
Soaking up my feelings.
And we wait. Together.
For the rest of my life
To begin.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem