Crimson
I dwell in the color
red
the lust of its accent infects
me and transforms my
nationality and allegiances
the taste of its blood
charges my heart and calls
to my ancestral rage
for death and expansion
its velvet density
comforts my sleeplessness
and controls the constant
discussion that plays out
over and over
in a darkened corner of my mind
I cannot exist without
its passionate embrace nor
breathe without its
whisper
my heaven is painted
red
I am
its lust
its blood
its velvet
its passion
its slave…
Copyright © Justin Presson | Year Posted 2008
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