By Madison [aka_madison@hotmail.com]
Date: 2 June 2000
white hot
The porcelain clock
beats from the mantel between
fig candles and glazed carafes.
It throbs like blood through veins.
The copper kindling pot
the tree in the window.
Lost inside a beveled frame
and hung from wire on the wall lies
a moss-fallen carpet of woodlands
where maidens romp, they dance in
red gowns
around their captive male.
Every nuance fades to
your touch your kiss, white hot.
The tree is gone
the maidens the ruby sash to
fan into the flame, the mantel clock
a doughfaced mute on the shelf
the candles, the bellows -
all are gone. Nothing but your kiss
blowing on the coals.
M Madison
24 may 00
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