I like to read the yarns of men,
words written down upon a page.
Protagonists, antagonists,
the villains filled with drugs and rage.
The femme fatale with bends and curves
and slender legs as long as roads.
She'll bat her eyes and pout her lips
a second 'fore her gun unloads.
The dialogue is crisp and sharp,
a little crude sometimes maybe.
The cars go fast, the bullets more,
before you know it, it will be
the end.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A good book makes time fly. Great poem, Jeremiah