Red

I only had eyes

for red dresses,

with cloth like

satin sheets—

the ones tangled up

in you and me.

Our red—

a red that

flows like lava,

a dangerous beauty

that only suffocates,

burns,

destroys.

Our red was

blood spilled on

a battlefield—

a thousand causalities.

We left a trail

of hearts broken like

stained glass:

all I could see

was red.

My red dress had a train

and a slit

up the side.

I was a bright siren,

in the fog of rain.

You offered me a rose,

and I pricked my finger.

Red, dripping

from my skin.