He cupped his hands
Around the concepts
She drooled like honey
With her velvet voice
He put them
In his pocket for later
For
When he got home
And did some emptying
And no – they
Would not be tossed with coins and keys
And careless disregard
No, they would not be
Relegated to another time, another day,
Easily forgotten
They would instead be
Savored
As fine, burning cognac
Accompanying
Fine, burning cigar
Exquisite delirium would
Suffuse him
In her smoky, liquid words,
& drown him in their sound
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Sterling imagery, Reverand...I like th' language here, as well as th' even-flow structure/metre....Fine Craftsmanship''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''''F J R