A wasp kamikazes the window;
I am disenchanted by the sound
of wings buzz-buzzing to reach
an abstract evening sky
bleeding crimson streaks
onto yesterday's soufflé clouds-
reminding me of the time
we danced in midnight streets,
rain cascading scarlet down
your flushed and blushing cheeks.
Now you disarrange our dreams
as I cut my forsaken fingers
clutching razor-sharp promises,
carved into bloody lies,
within your painted smile.
Today the wasp is blind,
tomorrow his clock is dead,
and I wonder at the precise
moment in time
I forgot the taste of red.
YOU ARE READING
Red: A Poetry Collection
PoetryA collection of poems that touch on the red places in life, whether in love, loss, abuse, or betrayal. Some of the poems are fiction, some are non-fiction--all are honest.
