I dangle my watch, its leather strap warmed
By the out-wind of the laptop. Time is both suspended in mid-air
And ticking along a red rectangle, pulled by a grey disc,
As the best of Wagner plays next
To an advertisement for a Russian wife, blonde and busty with tits.
I feel the two deep lines in my forehead burrowing deeper,
As if each movement of the red rectangle and each swing of the watch
Mark another irreversible folding of skin, and then another.