The damask-tipped needle
Gently glides past the marker
Of a time to which none will return,
Trapped in a
Carved mahogany tower which
Encases our memories of
Needles and gliding
In one-way glass.

This divine, embezzled box
Torturously mocks our lives,
But if not for this cruel mirage,
How would we know where the
Time goes?