Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Jul 2021
The hands like daggers rotating in orbit, moving in time, creating measurement, from beginning to an end. All of this amidst a clear face, trapped within a black back, inked and pressed against a soft white, face to face I countdown as I get lost with time
DEADLINE
Written by
RobbieG  31/M/U.S
(31/M/U.S)   
52
 
Please log in to view and add comments on poems