Jazzing My Pace Poem by Madrason .

Spotlights on the ceiling
give me the feeling
of not being near
as I hear
the sweet legs
shining on Chet's
hands
I keep silent
and fume from
my last cigarette
Lethe's lips shall
do their best
that's it I know
soon, I'll have to go
trying to slow down
and yet
deep purpled wets
a thirst after
Simone
put those chocolate
fingers lingering white
to move the gold
unfolding my deepest
darkest wishes untold
Ah Horace can pluck me
anytime, lest I forget
upon my way pores destiny! M