By Madison [aka_madison@hotmail.com]
Date: 5 November 1999

not thinking of you

your cocky grin
its edges lit with kisses
and island rum cigars
toying with the cogs
of my machine
your curveball smile
I count to ten
and focus hard on anything
but you 
concocting makeshift dreams
to pour you from my mind
extracting thoughts like mango pulp 
to sieve and put away
eight nine
and there you are
my abacus
my slow counting beads
pressed between my hands
I stand on scaffolding
and paint the chapel ceilings red 
with leitmotifs of you 
your cocky grin
its edges lit with 
island rum cigars
I count to ten.



M. Madison
5 nov 1999
copyright © 1999