Pandora, at midnight,
Out of the box.
With a minute of fingers,
And long stem cigarettes,
Caressing…
A blue curacao martini.
Inhaling.
Exhaling.
Listening to Billy Joel’s,
“New York State of Mind”,
And neon in the dark,
With piano keys.
A rhythm of pulsing smoke,
Breathing silently,
Hovering on the edge…
Drifting.
Free.
A blue curacao martini,
With a minute of fingers,
And long stem cigarettes.
Pandora, at midnight.
Heavy, the amber over ice,
With two finger’s Jack,
Upending still of night.
With love’s intoxication,
Whiskey twilight dissolving,
Into heat of passion…
Whispering, “permissible”
Cher A.,
I must admit you had me a bit puzzled.
A mix between your Two fingers Jack and me not being a native English speaker.
I don’t know if you are familiar with the term answer song?
That tradition is sizzling out probably due to the accessibility of computer/robotic ways of writing music.
I took the liberty to write an answer poem, which eventually will become a song I guess.
As a songwriter, I am a Djangoist, which means that I play string instruments with two fingers and my thumb. The thumb under the neck of the instrument.
een bescheiden Djangoist
maakt van de nood een deugd
bron van creativiteit
muziek in bed vol vreugd
een duim en twee vingers zijn
niet per se ‘n rode vlag
ze maken een vrouw tevree
met een gelukkige lach
Translated:
A modest Djangoist
turns necessity into a virtue
a source of creativity
music in bed, a pure delight
A thumb and two fingers are
not necessarily a red flag
they leave a woman satisfied
with a happy smile
I hope that you’ll understand that I did not write this to spite/dis you.
It’s done purely out of the love for languages.
Needless to say, I love your writes to bits!
Kind regards, Gus
Thank you,