Red

272

Rose red lipstick, ruby
red orange writing on the bed.

Blood on my skin, staining
the threads crimson.
It was too late. Time
was turning nervous in my hands.

I went walking to the hallway
to find excuses instead.

Red, red, red, red.
Run, run, run, run,
to what? To what?

I stood by your hand,
caressed silence, scared
of red. Indian red
lips are lifeless, split and white.

Insisted I say something
into tile and try.
It was too late. Time
was turning nervous in my hands.

I went crying to the hallway
and gray stayed instead.

Red, red, red, red.
Run, run, run, run
to what? To what?