Fire roars through veins
At the brushing of skin
Red isn't the color of love
It's of sin
Flames crackle and hiss
We're trapped here in
Fleeting, gasping bliss
The heat ebbs away and
There's something we miss
As we kick through the ashes
Thinking back on moments, flashes
But see,
We've burned Rome once before,
So what's left of this war?
YOU ARE READING
Color Me November
Poetry30 days. 30 poems. 30 colors. It's time for the first ever Color Me November! #colormenovember 11/8: #138 in Poetry
