Chapstick knocking in the 
 dryer it was yours tracing  
 my lips in a frame of 
 crayon petite nude naturels
 my dark beach boy man
 coconut sunscreen and sand.
 Cinnamon d'amour pours 
 down a bathroom drain 
 organically pure I'm a 
 squeeze tube of acrylic maroon 
 the color of  
 love is for morons
 Indian Red you would say 
 every pore well informed 
 I'm more off than on without 
 you I'm crushed in the middle 
 and left out to dry and I 
 think it's time again
 to change from silver to gold 
 my neck my ears the fingertips 
 of my toes are soaked in 
 enough of your sweet allure 
 without second thoughts
 of these Mexican silver moons 
 and stars and pieces of
 you I wear.  The towel hangs
 three days from the hook.
 Absorbed as I am in  
 another the one that wasn't
 still we held on tight didn't we
 to every half-light filtering 
 through the glaze and 
 in-between the cracks 
 until our next god died.


06 nov 01
M Madison