Red of Roses' Prelude

Your roses are for your love. In roses there lies red. In red is blood, carnelian soul; life, your life, a life you devote so diligently to another’s; the colour of your ardour, the roses in their cheeks. In red is the heart, your heart, their heart, the hearts you sold to another pair of hands. In red is the acrimony that flushes your eyes, your tongue; the tacit spokesmen of yet to be hysteria, discord, poison on their voice and aftermath of lachrymose. Silences. A petal falls. You forget about love. A rose withers; personification at its finest.