A fatted tear runs down
the gentle slope of aging cheek,
the crevice of a line
a valley
concealed from all but she who knows,
reaching upper lip it pauses
genuflects
and recovers the memory
glides softly over bottom lip
waiting to be licked
to disappear into the abyss-
but no,
it stops mid-lip
and dries
Leaving just the treasure
of the thought-
the lingering salt
of yesterdays unfulfilled.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem