Red.
It's the color of the room.
It's the color of the warm atmosphere,
And the soft music,
That floats around the air.
And her.
It's the color of the fabric,
Draped around her body.
It's the color of her cheeks,
And the drink in her hand,
That swirls slightly.
It's the color of the wilting flowers,
On her night stand.
It's the color of the book she writes in.
It's the color of her lips,
When she reaches up,
And presses them on mine.
It's the color of her finger nails,
As they drag through my hair.
It's the color of his eyes,
As he stares.
It's the color of her eyes,
As she stares back.
It's the color of the drink,
He buys her.
It's the color of his cheeks,
When she reaches up,
And presses her hands against them.
It's the color of her lips,
When she reaches up,
And presses them on his.
It's the color of his headlights,
That drive away from,
The room,
And the warm atmosphere,
And the soft music,
That floats around the air.
It's the color of her finger nails
As they rake through her hair.
It's the color of the words I yell.
Hard words that bruise
And burning words,
That leave scars and burns,
Where scars and burns should not be.
It's the color trickling,
From the place where the barrier that,
Divorces her eyelid and her forehead.
It's the color beginning,
To fall from her mouth,
Where it wants to open,
But it can't,
Because its purpose is to not open.
It's the color of my face,
When she grabs my collar,
And yells her own words.
Hard words that bruise,
And burning words,
That leave scars and burns,
Where scars and should not be.
It's the color of the suit case,
That she throws open.
It's the color of the dress,
That she throws into the case.
The same dress she wore,
That first night.
It's the color of my ears,
And eyes,
And cheeks when I cry to her,
'Don't leave me here, in this house, with myself!'
And when she ignores me,
I cry out louder.
It's the color of the slamming door,
That echo's through my head.
It's the color of the drink,
In my hand.
The drink I order,
The next drink I'll order,
And the one after that.
It's the color of the lights,
And the hot air,
And the loud music,
That bends my vision.
And him.
It's the color of his tie,
The perfect knot on his perfect neck.
It's the color of his knuckles,
As he mixes the liquids.
It's the color of the picture frame,
On his night stand.
It's the color of the charm he always wears,
It's the color of his lips,
When I reach up,
And press them on mine.
It's the color of his scabbed fingers,
That clutch my hand.
It's the color of the tree,
Outside his bedroom window.
It's the color of the leaves,
Decorating the ground.
It's the color of my hands,
When I forget my gloves,
And he gives me his.
It's the color of my ears,
When we walk at night,
And watch the stars.
It's the color of his lips,
When I reach up,
And press them on mine.
It's the color of the blanket,
That we sleep under,
That reminds me of,
The room,
And the warm atmosphere,
And the soft music,
That floats around the air.
It's the color of my nose,
When the skies are grey with snow clouds.
It's the color of the bulbs,
We hang out side the house.
It's the color of the sweater,
The ugliest one I've ever seen,
The one I have to wear.
It's the color that swells,
When his mother greets me.
It's the color he tries to hide,
When his father shakes my hand.
It's the color of my cheeks,
When I am introduced to every one.
It's the color of my heart,
When I walk around,
And feel kindness.
There are no hard words that bruise,
Or burning words,
That leave scars and burns,
Where scars and should not be.
Only love.
It's the color of the wrapping paper,
That is shredded eagerly,
By children all around us.
It's the color of my cheeks,
When he stands under the mistletoe.
It's the color of words I yell,
Excited, happy words,
When I open the small box,
'Oh, thank you!'
And when he kisses my forehead,
'I love you.'
It's the color of my charm,
Matching his.
It's the color of the flower,
That is pinned to his lapel.
It's the color of words,
We exchange.
It's the color of my heart,
When he promises never to leave me.
It's the color of his lips,
When I reach up,
And press them on mine.
It's the color of their cheers,
As we walk back down the isle,
And out the big oak doors,
And into our new lives.
