I have skin but no bones, a mouth but no teeth, and I swallow your secrets while hanging from your arm. I sometimes have a hand in me, I also have a hand in my name. What am I?

In a twist, I bring forth day from night, a glass blossom that banishes fright. Filament's whisper, a spark's delight, casting shadows to dance in my soft, warm light.

Tall seat, no backrest, For a drink, I offer perch, Balance, my true test.

You can pair it with a cup. It can fly, or can it? Put cream in it and you will make a furry friend.

I am a single syllable, but I hold many identities. I can measure the land, yet I have no feet. I can catch your meal, yet I have no teeth. I punish the naughty, yet I have no hands. I sense the dim light, yet I have no eyes. I link the turning wheels, yet I never move myself. What am I?