Crimson
The air is heavy with musk
That deep sensual scent that wraps around
The mind and chokes away sanity
It smothers the smell of sweat and cheap perfume
As he tries to wipe her crimson from his
Starched white collar
He throws some lifeblood in red-light's direction
He doesn't see her drink his life blood
Doesn't feel
Anything
When
(Standing on a raining corner)
She asks another man to bleed for her
So this man too can taste her crimson
He's there staring in the streaked mirror
in a cheap
motel bathroom
Wiping at the collar
Wiping at the evidence
Trying to hide
Behind the flashing neon lights that filter through
The cracked venetian blinds.
Copyright © Rachel Laliberty | Year Posted 2011
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