Tier on tier, this abysmal
scent of tea and mescal
jars us to
time then, so then, a pucker more too.
Pour tea, pour essence,
our former selves decree
a solution to temper.
Oh devil now, I’ll go down calm, quit a poor ram
as to a butcher.
Notes: Today’s prompt was ‘Write a “translation” of a poem in a language you don’t actually know.’
The original is at http://www.poetryinternationalweb.net/pi/site/poem/item/10427