Screaming shades of red
were never the
pigments of the slithering
stringy threads, tied
to the end of
our fifth fingers'
fingertips.
It was pitch dark;
Murky like the tint
of your manicure,
Sable as the hue
of your favorite drink:
dark roast coffee.
Raven like the tone
of your hair and eyes.
Love was never the
color red;
Love is black-
Love is you.
BINABASA MO ANG
On Bridges That We Burned
PoetryA collection of unsaid words and feelings dedicated to the people I once loved and cherished.
