I see why love is red.
I can’t tell you.
But last night, you entered my chest
for play, some kind of game, like ‘Operation’
and then I couldn’t sleep
I jolted – shivered – jerked – quirked,
now my eyes don’t close
and my body is a pulse,
you tiptoed across my ribcage,
leaving foot prints enlaced by landmines,
you slept on my lungs,
short wired my arteries,
you clipped the circuits of my heart -
exhilarated and frightened,
because you knotted my red and blue wires,
now, I sleep hugging my chest
- Cradling a bomb –
overnight my skin pixilated into a fragile shell
under the crevices, the patterns of your fingers:
I must trust your touch
despite your palms of cold metal,
your lips of iron strength,
You kiss me! You kiss me! You kiss me!
My red heart, ugh! -
My scarlet lips, ah!
My rouge blush, wow!
My ruby underwear –
Yes! Yes! Yes!
My bloody womanhood, its fruitfulness –
The best! The best! The best!
This – is – our – rainbowww!
And I could burst,
and if we break…
I will bleed the same colour,
Painting this passion across the walls,
scattered and splattered – a child’s finger painting,
So, now I see why love is red…
because ‘falling’ is really falling
and who knows how hard or close this ground is.