Watch how they come. watch how they go. You are golden and we are ticking. Your hand touches the cold pane as the drops descend with disdain; like they know your pain. A compass points to north, with every sole brings no remorse. you watch how the numbers merge into one. Watch.Watch.Watch.
Two clocks tick, the runaway bride listens; she turns her head and stops.
.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem